Loser
by Velvet mace
Summary: Jak x Human!Daxter. Daxter thought his problems would be solved by becoming an elf, but getting his dearest wish has consequences. Warning: Violence, some sexual content, plotfic. Complete
1. Chapter 1: Status Quo

A/N: Some liberties have been taken with the back-story and game mechanics to make it work as a narrative, especially with the yellow orbs and their use and meaning. This was written with only knowledge of the first three PS2 games and not any of the supplementary games there after. I might have gotten some of the minor details wrong.

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**CHAPTER 1: Status Quo**

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"Say, Jak," said Daxter slyly. "Whaddya say we just call the area clean and not try to cross this gaping hole in the earth's crust? It's not like anyone else is ever gonna come anywhere near here. So… why not call it good enough."

The suggestion seemed eminently reasonable to Daxter, but Jak approached the chasm without wavering. "The Metalheads won't stay on the other side."

"True but we can – aaaaaaahh!" Jak leaped out, his hands catching a section of pipe with the precision of a trapeze artist.

Daxter clung nimbly to Jak's shoulder the way only a nine pound two ounce ottsel could. Jak wasn't actually trying to throw him off, but he damn well wasn't making it easy, either. The slim, muscular elf concentrated on half-climbing, half flinging himself across a particularly treacherous section of the Precursor ruin; the floor, if there even was one, was lost in the darkness below.

If it had been anyone else's shoulder, Daxter would have been swooning with terror about now, but sadly, this kind of insanely dangerous maneuvering was _par for the course_ with Jak. Daxter just trusted his companion would do the physical magic he always did, and somehow end up on the other side of the chasm intact. _Though, you know,_ he thought to himself, _every once and a while it would be nice to have a normal, intact bridge_.

The Precursors were crazy, Daxter decided long ago. They'd ingested a bit too much of their own technology and went off on some permanent bad trip. Nothing else could explain why they chose to construct their factories and homes in such an insidiously dangerous fashion. Perhaps they were paranoid and deliberately booby-trapped the crap out of everything; perhaps they just didn't mind occasionally falling forty feet into pools of poisonous black goo.

They sure didn't make it easy on the people that followed them. Daxter could almost forgive them for their crazy architecture, but the artifacts went beyond the pale. The Precursors seemed to have a pathological hatred for labels. That round canister thingy up on that shelf over there, hey, it might just be full of old rotting biscuits. Or it could teleport someone across the planet. Or it could just explode. That was the crapshoot a person took when wandering around these old ruins.

Sometimes someone found something really useful, like a big green eco vent, which would keep the whole city in good health for years, and make the finder rich, rich, rich. Most of the time a guy was lucky to leave the place alive and -- unaltered.

In any case, whatever rationale the Precursors had, they were all gone, leaving their little hazardous waste sites all the hell over the planet, just waiting for some greedy idiot to stumble upon something, and unleash some bit of far reaching, disastrous technology on the world.

Like this one: "Jak, I smell rats."

Jak grabbed a broken piece of pipe and swung himself over to a more stable section of flooring. He patted himself down then looked around. They were in a twenty foot section of relatively normal looking hallway. Well, normal for Precursors, which meant huge hunks of rock held in place with spit and hopeful thoughts.

"Yeah. I felt them a moment ago. Three, I think."

Jak's face was impassive, but he exuded his usual combination of masculine pride and teenaged invincibility. The second was a bit less appropriate considering the fact he'd already passed his twenty-second birthday, but Daxter couldn't really fault him for it. The elf had survived the impossible more times than Daxter could count.

Daxter didn't ask how Jak could tell there were three Metal Head rats closing in on them. The elf's sense of smell wasn't as good as Daxter's was, and his eyesight was limited to what light the glow sticks attached to his bandoleer shed. But Daxter didn't doubt Jak was right in his count. He wasn't actually sensing the rats, after all, but rather the evil bit of technology they each carried with them. Jak had an uncanny affinity to Precursor tech that bordered on psychic. It was his greatest skill, and the reoccurring bane of both of their existences.

The rats squirmed out of various holes. They were big things, bigger than Daxter, and a hell of a lot uglier. Nasty, course brown fur, sharp oversized teeth and claws, and their beady red eyes glowed unnaturally. In the center of each of their heads was a smooth, yellow gem about the size and shape of a bird's egg.

Daxter could smell the hostility. The rats skittered across the stone floor in their direction, intent on tearing Jak to bits.

Jak calmly pulled his gun from his hip and put a round into each of them. Two went down immediately, the third continued to crawl forward even as it died, teeth gnashing at the air. Jak put it out of its misery with a second round.

Daxter felt a slight pang of sympathy for the critters. In the ordinary scheme of things, they weren't particularly dangerous. Maybe they'd maul a kid if it poked them with a stick, but usually they ran from anything bigger than themselves. The problem was the yellow gem. Any time the gem sensed an elf nearby, it drove whatever creature it had hijacked into a killing rage that only ended with the elf or the metal head dead. Pretty as these smooth glassy orbs were, they were hellishly _nasty_ weapons.

Jak knelt down by the first corpse and waved his hand over the golden orb in its head, turning the device off the way only Jak and his strange Precursor powers could. The gem seemed to dim a bit, but it could just have been Daxter's imagination, they didn't actually glow. Jak then took a knife out and slid it around the edge where tech met flesh. He grasped it and it pulled free of the creature's skull with a faint wet schlupping sound.

Daxter tried not to look at the hole left behind. He knew very well that the gem had eaten through fur, flesh and bone all the way down to the grey matter. And then it spun thousands of metal threads, spiderweb thin, but slice-your-finger-off sharp and very strong. These threaded themselves all through the creature's brain without actually killing it.

Daxter morbidly wondered if the poor critter had any conscious awareness after the orb implanted. He hoped that it didn't, because that would really suck. And these things didn't just attack stupid vermin – over the years, Jak had had to pry a few of these out of elves as well. Dead elves, that Jak had killed himself.

If Jak wasn't around, the gems went inactive after the host body died. They then just lay around looking pretty and shiny and _valuable_. One had only to brush one's skin against the device to trigger it to shoot metal threads out like little harpoons. If an elf was lucky and armed with a sturdy knife, he could cut it off before it found his brain. Usually he got less than ten seconds to do that. Once it was implanted, the he might as well be dead. Attempts to remove the network only shredded the victim's brain. There was no cure.

Jak tossed the gem to Daxter, who didn't flinch. It was just a hunk of rock now, thanks to Jak's power. He tucked it into Jak's backpack.

"Money in the bank," said the ottsel. Jak was paid handsomely by the gem – not because the government had any use for the evil things, but rather because it was one less hazard for elf kind. All in all, the two made a decent living off of killing metalheads. Which was good, because Daxter, being a small furry animal, couldn't exactly find a normal paying job, and Jak –

Jak had his own problems. He would never have a normal anything.

Daxter shook off his melancholy feelings while Jak retrieved the other two gems. They made their way down the corridor to yet another oversized room, heaped with junk that appeared to be half-sculpture, half device.

The elf suddenly turned his head. "Bunch more coming."

"Let 'em at us!" Rising up on his hind legs, he raised his paws in little fists and shadow punched the air. "We'll turn 'em into mincemeat." _We_ being, of course, Jak, but the elf didn't mind Daxter taking some of the credit. And hey, Daxter wasn't without his uses in a fight.

Jak gave him an indulgent smirk and tapped his shoulder, and Daxter immediately hopped up, his short claws hooking into the dark green mesh of Jak's vest. The metal heads wouldn't normally attack an ottsel, but he had Jak's scent rubbed all over his orange fur right now, and from past experience he knew they _would_ chase him down, unless there was a body of water handy for him to jump into. As contrary as it seemed the safest spot to be was up on Jak's shoulder, where Jak could protect him.

_Bunch_ turned out to be an understatement. It seemed that every metal head in the entire complex had found them at the same time. Most were rats, but there were other creatures as well. Jak unloaded his gun quickly into the mass.

Daxter didn't have the luxury of watching. He was reaching into Jak's pack to retrieve a new magazine, getting it out and into Jak's hand just in time. The process repeated. Occasionally, without warning, Jak would spin about, or even do a summersault to put a bit of space between himself and one of the creatures. Only Daxter's quick reaction time and his near perfect balance kept him attached and prevented him from being squished.

A sudden lurching quality to Jak's stride told Daxter he'd been injured. Daxter flew to the backpack and dug out a green eco pack by feel. He didn't wait for Jak to ask but went ahead and cracked its thin shell, spilling the glowing green substance down the back of Jak's vest. It sank quickly into his skin and Jak resumed his normal gait. All healed, just like magic. Some Precursor stuff was quite worthwhile.

When he wasn't busy retrieving ammo or healing Jak, Daxter scanned his 6. Today there was plenty going on. "Up and behind!" he warned, seeing the glint of a yellow gem as a rat looked down from the top of a piece of random precursor machinery.

Jak spun around and shot. Daxter heard the creature's scream as it fell, but then they were moving again, and he lost track of that particular enemy. Numerous other things had his attention.

"Uh oh," said Daxter. "You got eight of them coming at ya, Jak,"

Jak spun again. Daxter didn't see it, but he knew when Jak dropped his gun and went to kicking the creatures. It took most of his attention to keep from being thrown off, but he managed to snag another green eco pack. If he could just get it to Jak in time--

But it was too late to prevent the inevitable. There were too many of them at once, which would mean that Jak would be pushed past his breaking point. And that would bring the Other.

Jak's skin seemed to glow, and Daxter felt a familiar cold, bitter ache. Dark eco seemed to ooze from the elf, creating a dull aura that made him hard to look at. Daxter clenched his teeth and tried not to be scared. Normally dark eco was stuff to be avoided at all costs. Like it's green cousin, it was an indefinable substance, sometimes pooling like liquid, sometimes floating as a gas. Also like the green stuff, it _liked_ living things, and when someone got close enough it would home in on them and absorb right through their skin. Unlike green it didn't put a person back together the way they were supposed to be. It altered them. Usually in painfully fatal ways.

Jak was the exception. He could absorb the stuff up without even flinching, and use it to change his form when circumstances pushed the issue. It was a neat trick – except "Dark Jak" was a hell of a scary thing to be close to.

Daxter spared half a glance to confirm his friend's corpse pale skin, and white hair. The horns that appeared on his head weren't quite as intimidating as the claws on his hands, but as far as "things an elf shouldn't have" were concerned they were pretty impressive.

Dark Jak went into motion, and at that point all Daxter could do was hang on, and not get in the way. Dark needed no weapons; he was fast, vicious, and completely unaffected by pain. Although it seemed endless, the chaos resolved itself within five minutes, and soon all that was left was Jak's heavy breathing and the overwhelming smell of blood.

Daxter leaped gratefully down, shaking off the lingering cold of the dark eco.

"Well, good job, there," he said, trying not to let his nervousness show. Usually Dark disappeared the moment the danger was over – but sometimes he… lingered. This appeared to be a lingering day. When Dark gazed at Dax as if he were actually pondering some important matter, it was time for a bit of small furry intervention. Besides the staring was getting kind of creepy.

Daxter gestured around at the shredded carcasses. "You killed 'em all, Dark. Jobs over. So why don't you go back to sleep and let Jak come back."

Dark cocked his head. Then with two swift steps reached down and grabbed Daxter, pulling him up to his chest. The grip wasn't entirely comfortable, but there was no menace in it. One clawed hand, swept across his fur, petting him.

"Yeah, yeah, I love you, too, you lug." Daxter rubbed his cheek against Darks chin. "I'm perfectly safe. All the bad ole rats are dead. You can go."

Dark's skin warmed back to its normal tan, Jaks hair deepened in hue from white to greenish blonde. The horns melted away, and then there was just ordinary Jak there, holding Daxter to his chest, rubbing his fur in a thoughtful manner.

"I turned again, didn't I?"

"Yeah. No problem. Dark creamed them."

"He didn't hurt you?" Jak asked, worriedly.

"Hell, no," Daxter said, squirming out of Jak's grip and climbing back up onto his shoulder. "He just wanted a cuddle before he went. He's really a softy, when he's not tearing things to tiny bits."

Jak looked doubtful.

Daxter changed the subject. "Hey, look at all that money on the ground. Let's go collect it up, before the scavengers come and carry it off."

Thirty-six gems. Not a bad morning's haul.

Jak looked around. "The place is clean," he pronounced. The place stank of rat and looked like a slaughterhouse, but Daxter accepted Jak's judgment.

"Shall we head back?" asked Dax. He checked the pocket watch in one of the backpacks pouches. It was only a bit past noon. "Early day, but hey, I could use a beer."

"Sure," said Jak, and they turned around to head back across the chasm, to their zoomer. From there it was a quick trip to the city, and sanity.

* * *

Wanna hear a joke? It goes something like this: A Loser Elf walks into a Precursor ruin and sees a gorgeous babe on the other side of a big ole pool of black eco. He hears this voice that says: "If you cross the moat, and you'll become irresistible to women."

Well the Loser, he's scared and all, but he realizes she'll never give him the time of day the way he is, and the girl's beautiful, and why the hell not. So he swims across the pool.

And when he climbs out on the other side, he's the most adorable, cute, furry _animal_ she's ever seen.

What? Not funny enough for ya? Well try this one --

A Loser finds the girl of his dreams and falls in love. And surprise, surprise, she loves him back. Only they can't consummate their love because the girl is an Elf, and the Loser is a freaking 9 pound ottsel with a prick the size of a matchstick.

So one day they come across a bunch of precursors who say, "If you want we can transform you so you are the same species and you can live happily ever after." They eagerly agree. Whazam! The gorgeous girl is transformed into a flipping furry critter.

"Let's go home and make love," says the female ottsel.

"Hell, no," says the Loser. "I'm not into fucking animals."

* * *

Daxter rolled across the polished wooden bar laughing raucously at his own jokes. His progress was halted when his head connected with Jak's glass stein with an audible crack. Jak grabbed his drink, and thanks to his preternatural reflexes, only an inch or so of its dark foamy contents escaped as it tipped over.

"That's not the way it happened," said Jak, his face stuck in a somber look. Maybe because it wasn't so much that Daxter had voluntarily leapt into that black pool of eco to get a girl as it was that his good old best friend had accidentally pushed him in. Ooops.

"I've taken a few artistic liber- liberties with the story."

"I think your pet has had enough," said the bartender, dryly, reaching out with a rag to wipe up the spillage that hadn't soaked into Daxter's fur.

"I'm not a pet. I'm a goddamn ELF!" screamed Daxter. "Just as smart. Just as capable. Just as fucking autonomous as the lot of you."

The bartender looked skeptical, and turned his back on them.

"You know," said Torn, taking a sip from his beer, "It's a good thing Tess isn't in the bar right now to hear you laughing about her choice. She sacrificed a lot to be with you."

Daxter lolled his head over in the boss-man's direction. He could barely make out the deepening glower through the tangle of tattoos all over the dude's face. And that annoyed Daxter to no end, because Daxter could tell that Torn would have been good looking if he hadn't let some priest use his mug like a sketchpad. What a fucking waste. But that's what religion got ya.

"Oh truss me, " slurred Daxter. "She already knows these jokes. She knows them by fucking heart. Choice – it was a mistake, made out of fucking love – something you wouldn't know about…" He turned away. He didn't need Torn's disapproval. The dude wanted to look like a freak, that was his own damn choice. Daxter's looks were a fucking cosmic joke. And Tess's were a goddamn _crime._ Torn had no ground to stand on the issue.

Torn tsked and rolled his eyes. "Has being a Precursor lost its appeal?"

Daxter pulled himself wavering to his feet, a rush of anger making his fur stand on end. "Don't you even go there. Tess and I got nothing to do with any Precursors."

Oh, yeah. About that. The biggest discovery in a century: The Precursors were really – surprise -- ottsels!

Except, no. They really fucking weren't.

A year ago bunch of ottsels had dropped into the city in a fancy spaceship, and _told_ all the naïve elves that _they_ were the Precursors. They used that lie to get the elves to give them artifacts to decipher. Funny thing, every single artifact turned out to be very dangerous and needed to be disposed of by the "Precursors." What a load of malarkey, but it was damn good racket while it lasted.

But oh, Ottsels were Precursors. How Daxter had latched onto that idea, because, hey, being a Precursor was pretty cool. After five years of being thought of as some kind of sub-sentient animal, having the dangerous mystique of being one of the Great Makers was heady. People gave Daxter fucking _respect_ for once. And poor Tess, caught up in the enthusiasm, wanted to be a Precursor too. She just wanted to be someone special. She wanted to be with Daxter. Fuck. So she _asked_ to be one. And they'd changed her into an ottsel without giving her a chance to reconsider.

It was too damn good to be true. And no matter how hard he wanted to deny it, the ugly truth couldn't be ignored. The ottsels were just too fucking _stupid_ to keep up the pretenses for long. They really weren't a terribly bright lot – maybe on par with Lurkers. They had no idea how to turn Daxter and Tess back into elves. They didn't even understand how their own spaceship worked. They just pressed the pretty buttons in the right order and trusted they'd arrive someplace.

They certainly fled fast enough when Daxter asked the hard questions. Ottsel's are Precursors. Hardly.

"Why divorce yourself from the mystique?" Torn was going way over the line here, but it was obvious he didn't really care. He probably thought Dax's fury was cute and comical. Most people did. But really he should have known better.

"Mystique, nothing. Those assholes ruined my Tessy-kin's life, and acted like they'd done her some huge favor. They robbed the city fucking blind. And you know as well as I do they weren't no Precursors. You've seen the ruins. You can't possibly think that some critter that looks like _me_ would build all those oversized corridors. If I were making a home I'd have things built on my scale. With a lot more cozy holes and a lot less bottomless pits." Daxter shook with rage.

Torn chuckled dryly at Dax's distress.

"Oh my life is funny to you!" Dax took a step forward and fell flat out on his stomach. He lifted his head and glared at Torn, but the elf's eyes were just eating the situation up like it was some kind of physical comedy.

"Dax," said Jak, his voice so soft Daxter almost didn't hear it, even though he was now lying directly under his chin.

Daxter closed his eyes when he felt Jak's hand scratch behind his ear _just so_. And damn it, it was hard to hold on to outrage at the universe when something felt that good. Daxter relaxed, sank down across the countertop, defeated by the oh so happy fingers.

"I'll get your old body back," came the soft words. "I haven't forgotten. I'm still looking."

Daxter beat his tail contentedly against the bar. What was he just yelling about? Who knows. He was drunk and that felt damn good. He rolled over so Jak could get at his belly, too. _Yeah. Right there. Right there. Perfect._

Sensing the moment defused, Torn slipped smoothly back into mission commander mode. "So the area you searched didn't connect up to Sector 4b."

"Not in any way I could traverse," said Jak, all business.

Torn put a hand to his forehead and rubbed. "That's inconvenient. We are still looking for a safe way to access the white eco vents you found last week. This looked like a short cut."

Jak stopped scratching Dax's belly long enough to take a swig of his beer. He then went back to work "It was missing floor in three sections, so just as well. Other way was safer. So what next?"

"You might find this interesting." Torn pulled out a map, which hijacked Jak's attention to the point where he stopped petting Dax entirely and skootched his chair over to sit closer to Torn. Daxter sighed out his disappointment, then crawled to where he could take a look. The thin green and blue lines on the parchment wavered in his drunken mind, but he was able to get a sense that the map was a lot _denser_ than previous copies had been.

Jak whistled. "Damn."

"Blue is confirmed, green's extrapolation" said Torn, "But this is the way we think the ruin lines up."

Daxter made his eyes focus. The scale of the map made his jaw drop. No wonder the lines were dense – this was a map of the entire goddamned _continent._ "You mean all these precursor ruins are connected?"

Torn nodded again. "It's Shamus's belief that perhaps there really is only one precursor ruin and that it extends from pole to pole all the way around the globe. What we've been calling independent ruins would be the underground equivalent of turrets. The bulk of their dwelling space appears to be these pod like structures three to five miles underground, all interconnected with tunnels. It's possible they never walked on the surface of the planet at all."

"That's a lot of house to rattle around in." Daxter ran a claw over one cluster of ruins more than a hundred times the size of Haven City. "How many precursors were there, ya think? In their heyday, I mean."

"Billions," said Torn, in all seriousness. "Judging by these structures. Billions."

The number made Daxter dizzy. There were maybe a million Elves on the entire planet. Perhaps three times that many lurkers. The precursors had them both beat over a 1000 times over? Daxter began babbling, "How can _that_ many of anything just vanish, and without leaving a single corpse or skeleton? It fucking isn't _natural_."

Before Daxter realized what was happening his mouth was wrapped around a thick chunk of pretzel. He shut up and looked over at Jak who had picked a second stick out of a bowl lying on the bar top, and was tapping it against his short greenish goatee. He felt a burst of fury at having been so casually shut up, but that quickly melted to wry relief. He'd been making a drunken fool of himself all afternoon. The big guy was just looking out for him. Daxter sucked on the salt, while Jak went back to idly rubbing his head.

"I can't clear all that out," Jak said, stating the blindingly obvious in a deadpan voice.

"We don't expect you to," said Torn. "But it's something to be aware of."

Torn spread another map, one built on saner proportions. "This is the area we want you to clean out tomorrow. Hopefully there will be an easier way to get to those vents."

The two talked. Missions, strategies, options, resources – money. Daxter was there of course, and he wasn't exactly excluded from the conversation, but he wasn't really included either. His agreement on whatever the two cooked up was simply _assumed._

I'm not even a proper sidekick, Dax thought, pulling himself up to steal a few more sips out of Jak's mug. I'm _gear_, like a backpack or a bandoleer. My opinion is _not_ required. Just do my duty, and feed ole Jak his ammo and his eco when he needs it. Keep an eye out for the nasties and my trap shut.

Hell, so my love life is not only non-existent, it's not even possible. Who cares! So what. I'm a great pet. Pets don't need lives. They just need to make their man happy, and yeah, I can do that.

Daxter looked up at Jak, and yeah, he had that mellow look that petting Daxter always gave him. Theirs was a relationship built on mutual addiction, all right. Symbiosis they called it. Being an ottsel wasn't all that bad, after all. If he were still an Elf – would Jak even be hanging with him anymore? Would Torn or Ashlein give him the time of day? And Dax knew that Tess wouldn't have looked twice at him. Riding Jak's coattails wasn't really such a bad thing. _Should just stop grumbling and get comfy with the status quo. _

Jak noticed his gaze and smiled, reaching up to scratch under Dax's ear the way that turned him to moosh every single time.

At least my job is easy, thought Dax as he let the last of his misery dissolve in pleasure. I just need to let things go.

* * *

They ended up stopping by Tess's on the way back to the apartment. Or rather Mitch's. After all, did Ottsels really own anything? Anyway, Jak needed more ammo, and wanted a look-see at what the smiths had cooked up. The last thing Jak needed was another hunk of steel – the dude was plenty dangerous with just his feet and hands. But a guy's gotta have a hobby, and somewhere in the last three years, Jak had turned into a major gun geek. His collection already threatened to overwhelm their precious closet space, but since Jak made the money, Dax couldn't very well make a fuss over how he spent the excess.

Besides this was pretty much the only time Dax saw Tess anymore. Not because he didn't like seeing her, god no. It was just part of the whole "pet" package. You went with your man. Dax's man like to spend his time climbing all over freakishly dangerous ruins. Tess's guy liked to hang in his workshop finding new and clever ways to kill things with projectiles.

Tess liked doing that, too. Before she got turned small and furry, she'd been a damn fine gunsmith. The best, in fact. Torn and his resistance had used her all the time, which is how she and Daxter met in the first place. Daxter's eyes half shut on the memory of Tess, sitting on a box, wearing her tiny shorts, beautiful bosoms hanging out of her shirt. And oh god, her hair, blonde and long, and her figure – not as tiggy-thin as his previous crush, Keira, just perfect. Va-voom. Now she was… well nice in a fuzzy kind of way. Cute at the expense of sexiness. Not an exchange Daxter would have cared to make.

"Hey Dax," called Tess called. Daxter looked up. Tess was clinging to the awning of the shop, looking down at them. She was slimmer than Dax, with orange stripes against soft cream, a tufted main of yellow accenting the top of her head. She wore a small leather utility bag belted around her sleek middle.

"Tess babe!" Dax called up. "Whatcha doing up there?"

She leaped nimbly down to Jak's other shoulder, letting her tail briefly fall over Dax's back in the ottsel version of a handshake. "Repairing a hole from some stray fire," she said, cheerfully, as though bullets ripping up her shop were just part of a normal day-to-day activity – which in a way it was. The city was not a safe place by any means.

"Hey Jak! Come see! We've got good things!" She leapt to the ground and scrambled through the open door into the building's interior.

Jak made a small interested grunt, which was his way of saying, "Hi! How are you? Sure I'd love to see what you got." His face was articulate enough to make up for his verbal deficits.

They headed inside, making their way past the perpetually empty reception desk to the machine shop. It was cluttered with heavy metal lathes, and drills, a smelter, and a rather frightening amount gunpowder. Mitch was like Jak-- when it came to his job he was willing to take a lot more risks than an your ordinary Elf. Speaking of which, hunkered in the middle of it, like part of the oversized machinery himself, was Tess's meal ticket.

"Hey Mount Mitch," called Dax, covering over the nervous thrill with what he considered a friendly banter. Truth be told, Mitch scared him, which was really pretty funny considering what Dax did day to day. It was just that Mitch was so… well huge. Not actually fat, but just large in every possible way an Elf could be. His biceps were wider than Jak's thighs. He was hairy too: Big mutton chops, and enough fur on his arms to qualify as some sort of animal. Ew. Dax privately speculated he had some Lurker blood in him somewhere, but he didn't dare actually say it.

_Why did Tess choose him?_ Dax thought resentfully. Why couldn't she have stayed with us? But he was well aware that the only person who thought Tess would come back to live with them again was himself. Jak only had room on his shoulder for one ottsel, and Dax already had that position.

Tess scampered nimbly over the mess, and climbed Mitch's arm to take possession of her territory. Sitting comfortably on his shoulder, she wrapped her tail loosely around his throat, and rubbed the side of her muzzle against his ear. "Hey babe," she said. "I'm gonna take Daxxy back to my room why you boys talk shop."

Mitch nodded and dismissed Dax with a vague wave of his oil stained hand. Dax had no desire to hang around while Mitch and Jak talked. Knowing the two of them, they'd spend about fifteen minutes grunting over the specs of some weapon, and then the next couple of hours taking turns shooting their way through the course. Boring.

Tess lead the way to the second floor of their shop, where the two actually lived. Tess and Mitch had separate rooms, a fact that calmed some of Dax's jealousy. Tess's room had a small area designed for Elves to sit and visit, but the majority of it was filled with what Tess called Ottsel Palace– a series of platforms and tunnels, ramps and ropes, designed for a small critter to drape him or herself over in a myriad of ways. Dax had to admit that he was moderately envious of the set up, but Mitch's offer to build him a version had to be turned down. Jak's apartment was just too small for that kind of thing, and during their adventures in Precursor land, Dax had plenty of opportunity to exercise his climbing muscles.

Tess didn't lead him to the ottsel run though, instead she took him by her specially made desk. It was only a few inches off the ground, with its own light and various easy to set clamps to hold down large sheets of paper. Dax rubbed up along side her and looked at what she had. Not surprisingly it was the specs for a new weapon.

Tess twitched when she got excited, and her fur puffed out a bit. It was really cute – for a critter.

But Dax couldn't get himself too excited over the gun. What amazed him was how steady the lines of her drawing were. Ottsel hands were perfect for climbing up walls. They sucked at holding pencils. Dax had pretty much given up the idea of writing.

He felt a kind of sick sadness creep over him again. Tess was trying so hard to live her life normally. If it weren't for Dax, stupid things like being able to draw her ideas wouldn't have been an issue.

Perhaps sensing his melancholy, Tess butted her head under his, pushing up his jaw with her forehead. Their whiskers touched in a ticklishly delightful way. An ottsel kiss, the closest thing they ever came to intimacy. They sometimes twined their tails or petted each other roughly with hands not designed for that sort of thing. But no further. Dax didn't want to even think of the idea of Tess having a litter. There was no way he was going to perpetuate this farce into another generation.

No, one day they'd both be elfin again. Then they'd go beyond nuzzling. But until then…

Dax pulled away, "Your handwriting's amazing Tessykins"

Tess wiggled happily. "I've found that if I wrap a pencil in clay and grip it … just… so… I can hold onto it for quite a few minutes." She demonstrated. "But you know, Dax, if you and Jak would keep your eye out for some kind of Precursor stylus while your poking about in the ruins, I'd really be grateful. It would be so nice to have something actually built for my paws."

It was exchanges like this that drove knives into Dax's heart. Tess clung to the Lie. No she didn't just cling, she had _become_ the Lie. Without it she had no identity. Her self-esteem was gossamer thin these days, and without that special distinction, she'd fall apart.

So he didn't challenge it. But he didn't dare offer her false hope either. "I don't know," said Dax. "Labeling stuff is not the Precursor way. Maybe they didn't even write."

"All those Precursors," said Tess, a bit disappointed. "There had to be someone who needed to make a mark at some point."

Dax smiled over the pain. "Yeah. I'm sure there was, and Jak and I'll find it for you."

* * *

Later that night Daxter woke up to the stillness of the small hours. This was a pretty common occurrence. Since turning ottsel he rarely slept more than 4 hours at a time. Sometimes he'd get up and take a quick moonlit romp through the city. Mostly he'd just lie, curled on Jak's chest, and feel him breathe. Thinking. Thinking.

It was coming up on six years since the change. The act that started it all was so… mundane… compared to all he and Jak had been to since. One minute he'd been leaning over a pool of dark eco – wondering what the heck it was because at the time dark eco wasn't exactly something you just happened across. The next minute a piece of precursor tech had gone bang, and Jak shoved him – hard – into the mess.

Since then they'd traveled ridiculously far, and consulted dozens of experts and hunted through endless Precursor ruins hoping for some way to reverse the process. The closest they'd found was the machine that turned Tess into an ottsel.

Some help that was.

In the dark he could see the shelf where Tess used to curl up to sleep. Jak had boxes of ammo piled on it now, but in Dax's minds-eye, he could still see her up there, curled tight into a ball, looking down at him with ill disguised misery. Up until the point she'd moved in, Daxter had never given the slightest thought to his sleeping arrangements. After hanging out two inches from a guys face all day long, it really didn't make sense to avoid him at night. But now he was self-conscious of his body curled comfortably up on Jak's chest. It was nothing short of an affront to Tess. She should have been the one that Dax curled up next to… but he couldn't. Jak slept poorly the nights that Daxter left him to sleep with Tess. And sleep deprived was the last thing Dax wanted Jak to be when they entered a Precursor Ruin.

Perhaps if Jak had spread his affection to Tess it wouldn't have mattered, but Jak never did. Guilting Jak just made the elf mad and Tess embarrassed. Meanwhile Dax had felt uncomfortably like a rope in a game of tug-of-war. No one was happy with him and he wasn't happy with either of them. The worst part of the whole affair was the _relief_ Dax had felt when Tess moved out.

_Well played, Loser. Well, fucking, played_.

Daxter curled tightly so that his feet tucked up under his chin, and his tail slid against his ear. Why the fuck did the Precursors like ottsels so much? They must have some redeeming quality – or why program their equipment to make them? If he could just find that reason, maybe Daxter would find some contentment. Dax looked deep into himself, but inspiration didn't come.


	2. Chapter 2: Change

* * *

**CHAPTER 2: CHANGE**

* * *

The fantasy more or less ran like this:

Towards the end of their usual bug-hunt Jak suddenly stops, gobsmacked. "Dax! Look!" He points to a large machine full of random gears. It looks a bit like it might grind someone up, but Dax isn't afraid, because Dax is brave and all that.

"What is it?" Dax asks, hoping, but not ready to commit to actually asking if it is indeed the mythical devise – the grail – the _fruit_ of all their labors.

"This is what we've been looking for," says Jak in a giddy voice. "This will turn you back into an elf."

Daxter's heart flies. He's never felt such pure joy before. "What do I need to do?"

"Nothing. Just stand there between those two poles." Jak touches the machine, which whirrs to life. Golden mist sprays out of it, and suddenly Dax really is floating. He looks down to see his old body gracefully coalescing around him. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks at a conveniently shiny section of wall.

His face is narrow, and body spindly and short, but, man, he's never been so happy to see it. He doesn't care that he is scrawny, or that his ears look weird or that his front teeth are poking out of his mouth. He loves his body. Every beautiful elvish flaw.

Jak pats him on the back, congratulating him. And Tess –elven again – smiles with joy to see her old body back. And everyone is happy forever.

It's a good fantasy. Even after 6 years it still had the hopeful smack of plausibility.

* * *

Jak chose not to go off hunting for a new route to those inconvenient eco vents the next day. It wasn't that unusual; Jak went on hunches as much as he did orders. Torn's priority was neutralizing Metal Heads first, finding precursor tech second, and thoroughly mapping the place out a very, very distant third, and as long as Jak was doing one of those, he didn't complain too much.

At first, Dax didn't give it much thought when Jak picked a section they'd been through just three months ago. Every so often Jak decided to loop back and re-explore a part of the Precursor ruins they'd been to before. There were more nooks and crannies, half-blocked passages and weird out of the way holes than could really be covered in a single day. Thoroughness was not a realistic possibility.

As time went on, however, this sudden diversion from agreed on plan began to bother Dax. It was a little too purposeful. Just a bit too much like Jak knew something Dax didn't and damn well should. Something was up with Jak. He liked to stroke Dax's fur while he thought things over and he was doing a lot of this stopping and petting this particular morning. Normally, Dax liked being petted and it all worked out, but today the sensual enjoyment was tainted with guilt.

Dax suspected Jak's mood was due to Daxter's drunken tirade the day before. He gritted his teeth. Dang it. Should have known to keep his trap shut. It was a momentary loss of composure. Jak didn't need the old guilt trip stirred up again. Yeah, sure Jak was responsible in large part for his current state, but the dude had already done his penance. Dax had forgiven him long ago – honestly.

Dax knew talking it over just dug the pit of self-recrimination deeper and the hell if Dax wanted to play another round of "I'm sorry." There was nothing more gut wrenchingly painful than watching such a dignified, strong friend get down on his knees in tears and apologize for what had been a totally unpredictable accident. Three times was enough. So Dax played it cool and pretended he didn't notice the way Jak looked at him.

It would blow over, and they'd both be back to laughing soon enough. Best to just concentrate on the job at hand.

They had entered through a small hole clogged with vines and half hidden behind an enormous tree trunk. The first sections of ruin were bare of everything except dust and disintegrating leaves, but Dax smelled rats not too far in. Sure enough a few metal heads had migrated back to this section. They cleaned those out first, because nothing could be properly explored while something waited to drop on ya. It turned out to be a rather piddling haul for such a long zoomer ride.

"So, er… Jak," said Dax as they backtracked through the quiet corridors. This place still had a bit of ancient lighting going on – a low, eerie, bluish glow that emanated from the walls themselves. "Why here?"

"Tech," said Jak.

Dax nodded and adjusted his focus to keep an eye out for anything that looked promising.

Despite being miles away from yesterday's ruins, the corridors were nearly identical. Precursors were rather boring in their madness: nothing they did made sense, but it all didn't make sense in more or less the same way. Dax's eyes drifted over a pair of cracked ceramic vases. Jak was on the same wavelength, crossing over to them with swift strides. There was no market for Precursor pottery, so Jak smashed them with a couple well aimed kicks. Occasionally they'd find active orbs in them, but if there weren't, it was no loss; the stupid things were stamped out of cookie cutter molds anyway. Dax vaguely wondered why the Precursors had so many flowerpots and vases. You wouldn't think an underground nation would be that big into houseplants.

Ah well, no tech, no surprise. They'd already gone over most of the obvious stuff the first time. Anything left would be hidden in the nearly inaccessible parts.

Which meant climbing and jumping those damn pits. Both tedious and terrifying at the same time, what a combo! Eh, actually hunting tech was a lot safer than hunting metal heads -- usually the worst that happened was that the thing blew up and sprayed black eco around the room – and Dark Jak got himself a meal out of it.

Still, come to think of it, maybe hanging around Jak when he activated random shit was not the smartest thing to do.

"Hey buddy, how about I go take these metalhead orbs back to the zoomer, maybe catch a nap. You can come get me when you've found something."

"Wait," said Jak. The elf was scanning a huge room in a purposeful way, looking past the hulking lump of machinery in the middle, and staring up at the doorways some sixty feet above them. The Precursors had a liking for oversized chambers ringed with balconies, none of which had railings, and many of which had no stairs.

You know, maybe the damn Precursors could fly. That would explain a lot.

"Dax, get the light eco in the backpack."

Light eco was flipping rare – which was why Torn was wasting so much of Jak's time trying to find easy routes to it. The few fonts near the surface had already been used up, but it was still plentiful enough in the deepest and most inaccessible parts of the runes. Neat stuff, but honestly, not that useful to Elfkind. If you were desperate enough you could use it to heal yourself, but like it's black opposite, it could do some pretty funny things to a guy. The priesthood loved the shit, used it to "commune with the all" and stuff like that – and should one of them suddenly sprout a third eye, they just took it as a good omen. Most elves weren't ready to take that kind of chance.

Jak, of course, was different. Jak used it to bring out his other, _other_ persona.

On one hand, Light Jak was not nearly as scary as Dark Jak – in fact Light Jak literally glowed with innocence and purity, and, well, _light._ On the other hand, it was still a damn creepy thing to see happen to an elf – especially a close friend. Light Jak for all his beatific looks, _wasn't_ Jak.

Daxter reluctantly handed over an eggshell container marked with a blue dot. "You gonna summon _him?"_

"Only way to get up there. I need wings." Ah yeah. Another vote in support of the "precursors could fly" theory.

Jak cracked the little box with one hand, bluish glow seeped from between his fingers briefly before absorbing. A moment later. Jak's body grew transparent. Daxter, swept up in the side effects, felt gravity's pull grow lighter. His fur lifted off his back and puffed out – not entirely from his fear. Then with a sudden fluff of energy, long glowing tendrils flowed out from Jak's back, pulled by an unfelt wind. They looked more like streamers than wings. How they functioned at all was beyond Dax's imagination.

But they did function. With one leap they were up off the ground, Light beat his wings twice to reach the next balcony up, then turned around and flew across the empty space to an even higher balcony. With two more zigzagging jumps they'd made it to the very highest open door. Here Light let his wings drop and fade away.

But he didn't go away. Jak's personas were being rather persistent lately. Never a good sign. "Hey Light, you -- you got something you want to do up here?"

"Yes." Light regarded him with a distant but pleasant smile, and Daxter's throat dried up.

Light walked purposefully down a new corridor to a small room just jammed with Precursor doodads and whats-its. Dax knew from experience that most of them wouldn't do shit, but one or two might still have a bit of life in them after a thousand years of rotting. The light was natural here, provided by a sizable chunk missing from the domed ceiling. No one had been up here since the Precursor's had disappeared so many centuries before. Considering how close to the surface they were, that was a surprise.

Daxter was getting even more nervous. Jak had a sense of what Precursor crap did, and that was a damn useful thing. But Light… Light actually _knew_ what it did. No guesswork involved. That would be awesome if Light were a normal person, but Light's mind wasn't really on the elvish track and he seemed at times to have his own agenda, quite separate from Jak's or the good of the species.

The sooner Light disappeared the better, in Dax's view. He just couldn't trust the dude.

Despite the large amounts of showy (but completely unrecognizable) machinery, what Light honed in on was actually rather small -- a rounded lump of cream colored ceramic, with a few narrow bands of geometric motifs. It seemed strangely irregular in shape until Light picked it up and Daxter saw that it fit naturally in the curves of his cupped palm.

"Lie on the floor, Daxter," Light said. "Don't be afraid."

Okay, no. Angelic looking being or no, that was not a command Daxter could take.

"Sorry, your Brightness." Daxter jumped off Light's shoulder and put a bit of space between himself and the device. "But you aren't messing with me no-how with that thing. I've been hit with waaaaaay too much funkiness over the years to walk into active tech blind. Why don't you let Jak back, and we'll take that device back and let the smart guys at HQ see what it does."

"Jak fears change."

Yeah, that's Light for you. You make a perfectly good protest and he comes back with some complete non sequitur and expects you to nod and say: "Okay, then." What the hell was Light trying to do to him? Give him glowing wings like Jak? A third eye? A new godly persona who would talk in enigmatic phrases? Oh hell no. One "Light" was enough in this partnership. _Jak, buddy, come back._

Seeing Dax wasn't about to lie down (literally) for him, Light offered further "reassurance." "I will heal your soul."

This level of insistence was new. Even Dark Jak knew how to take "no" for an answer. Daxter's heart went into double time. Facing down a dude more than 15 times your weight with mysterious Precursor powers took a lot of courage, but Dax had done it before. "Hand it over, Light, I'll put it in the pack for ya. We'll have the big boys study this and then if it's good, I will lie down and take it."

"Very well." Light cocked his head and then held the device out in front of him, as if offering it up. Daxter took the bait, but before he could actually touch the device it began to glow. By then it was too late to run. The bright flash hit Dax like an ocean wave, bowling him over, and rolling him across the floor into the corner.

Daxter wasn't sure what the device was doing but he knew it felt _awful_. A stream of light eco invaded his flesh like some oozy tide, pushing his skin out from the inside. It was the most disgusting feeling he'd ever felt… but it didn't actually hurt. He felt like he was being turned to goo. His bones wavered and bent and collapsed, his fur and flesh melded in a pasty lump. His muscles gave out at that point, and he couldn't do anything, not move, not even breathe. That was when he mercifully passed out.

* * *

The white glow was fading from the relic in Jak's hands, fading from Jaks skin, and in a moment there was nothing but the shaft of sunlight coming through the broken dome to show the wide-mouthed shock on Jak's face. Dax blinked slowly, realizing that he was conscious and the damage had been done.

He opened a dry mouth to speak, then thought better of it. He was dizzy and tired and his body felt… cold. That first dark eco pool had pulled less of a whammy on him than this.

But… but… his eye fell on his hand and, oh hell, Light wasn't lying. This was it. He was an Elf again. Finally. The fantasy had come true, and in almost the way Dax had visualized it. He really aught to have known what Light was up to. In retrospect it was so obvious.

"Dax?" Jak looked confused and shocked, staring down at Daxter as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Of course, Jak didn't remember being Light any more than he remembered being Dark. It was clear from his expression that he was expecting to wake up on the balcony, the moment the wings were no longer needed. He wasn't expecting to see Dax in elf form any more than Dax had expected to be in elf form.

There was the briefest look of horror on Jak's face. It lasted less than a second and then it was flooded over by concern.

Dax lifted his hand and held it in front of his face. The movement was graceful as if this were the way his joints had always worked. As if there had never been a time when turning his palms up to the sky was impossible. Had his fingers always been this long? He curled to his side and saw his body, long and pale and naked. Elven.

_This isn't me_ Daxter thought. _This body belongs to someone else. It can't be mine._ It was a crazy thought, but it went well with the cacophony of emotions he was feeling. Yeah, there was joy -- huge whooping amounts of joy -- but there was terror, too, that this was just too good to be true. There was a hitch. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. The emotions crowding his chest made it ache.

"Are you okay?" Jak asked, quietly.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me what you were going to do?" Dax's voice was harsh and bitter and he cringed at how ungrateful his words came out.

"I didn't know," said Jak. "I mean, I knew there was something here – part of me knew. But … this is what you wanted. Dax… this is it! You are back! You are you!"

_I'm me_. Dax felt a happiness welling up and he grasped on to it, because dammit, this was what he wanted.

"Yeah, totally, Jak. Hell, this is all the holidays rolled up into one massive present." He pulled his lips into a smile and it felt so odd, he couldn't help but run his fingers (soft smooth, snort nailed) over his cheeks. Had his fingers always been this sensitive to touch? Dax crunched his eyes closed and was lost for just a moment in the sheer sensations his body was giving him.

Then he felt another touch against his face and he instinctively flinched away. He opened his eyes to see Jak kneeling over him, looking stung. Then it was as if a wall went up. Jak's face took on that stern, no nonsense look he always had when they were off adventuring and he had to be on high guard.

"I'm fine," Dax reassured him, lightly clapping his arm. "Same ole Orange Lightning, in a new improved package."

A small smile tweaked Jak's lips briefly. "I'm glad."

Oh screw it. This moment was just too damn good to waste on worries. One damn moment of happiness wasn't too much to ask the universe.

Dax felt an irrepressible surge of energy and he grabbed Jack around the chest and pulled him into a huge bear hug. For about five minutes they just knelt together, silently, on the dusty floor. Rocking together in shared happiness. Almost six years – more than a quarter of their lives – had been building to this moment. It was a hell of a long journey. And now it was over.

* * *

Of course every silver lining had to have its cloud. This one lowered down upon them quickly, driving out the heady joy with annoying practical details. Daxter felt chilly and with a stab of embarrassment he realized that some of the things he'd simply taken for granted were going to have to change – like wandering around nude.

"I don't suppose that Light thought to pack me some pants," said Daxter, blinking away absurd tears. He let himself settle into a more comfortable cross-legged position.

Jak coughed out a laugh, and then covered his face with a hand. "Actually – no."

Well that figured.

Six years and Dax hadn't given more than a passing thought to clothes. He'd tried wearing pants for a while, hoping they'd give him some respectability, but the effect was less than stunning. If he was expecting to be treated more like an Elf, it just didn't happen. Silly thought, after all, if _intelligent conversation_ didn't overcome the prejudice, why would he think fashion could do it. Soon he got lazy about washing the pants, and then they got ripped, smeared with metalhead blood, and eventually he just abandoned them again.

No one else cared one way or another. The fur covered his sex, but even if it hadn't, he was just an animal. Even Tess, for all her love, had never showed any curiosity about his ottselly boy bits.

But now his sex lay dangling out in all its elven glory for the world to see – and he damn well better cover it up. Dear Makers. Dating. Marriage. Getting finally laid. It was all wonderfully, deliciously _possible_ again. He was a sexual being again, worthy (he hoped) of a second look. He'd scandalize the town if he walked in nude.

Speaking of town, they'd passed through a small elvish village on the way to the ruins. The selection might suck but there would something there he could wear. "Jak, you better leave me here and go into town. Get some clothes for me."

Jak nodded. "I'll be back quickly." He quickly moved to the door of the room, then suddenly turned around and came back. He pulled one of his guns out and put it on the ground near Dax's feet. "I don't feel any more metal heads, but if you need it…" He headed back out the door before Dax could do more than gape.

And oh, didn't that cloud look pretty dark about now. No metalheads, but that didn't mean no danger. Here he was, sitting around in a Precursor ruin – one chockablock with tech that might or might not go off if Dax touched it, which might even have those evil little yellow orbs in it… and no Jak to protect him. Damn that sucked.

Worse – he was going to have to get down that sixty foot cliff, and not on Jak's shoulder like usual. He wasn't built for falls anymore. He didn't have claws. His perfect balance probably went the way of his fur. Yeah, he'd climbed a lot when he was a kid, and he hadn't been half bad at it, but that was a freaking long time ago. He didn't trust his new muscle arrangement yet. And oh wouldn't it be ironic if Dax broke his neck mere minutes after finally getting his body back.

"Get a rope too!" Dax shouted.

* * *

It turned into one of those days where every minute seemed to stretch. The wait for Jak to return lasted eons, during which every distant plop of water, or scritch of an animal sent Dax's heart into triple time and his mind reeling down every bad thing that could possibly happen.

He held the gun in his hand, feeling the unfamiliar heft of it. Sure, there had been a few times in the past he'd pushed his stubby ottsel fingers though the trigger guard – but those had been really bad scary times and he'd done it out of pure desperation. Aiming was a crap shoot, and the kick back tossed him about like a doll.

Another scrabbling sound. Definitely rodent. Could Jak have missed one?

The metalheads would be going after him now. And not just 'cause he smelled like Jak. Like it or not, being an ottsel had a ton of advantages when it came to this line of work – for example, pretty much his entire job was contingent on him being small enough to fit on Jak's shoulder. Feeding ammo without getting in Jak's way. Crawling through holes too small for Jak to get through. Debugging traps Jak's thick fingers couldn't reach.

Anything Dax could do now, Jak could do better. Dax had nothing to bring to the party anymore. _Well, I think I just evolved myself out of a job._

Dax wrenched his thoughts away from that direction. It lead down uncomfortable paths, and he was already dealing with as much change as he could handle.

And anyway it didn't matter. The simple truth of it was that he wanted to go home. He wanted to be somewhere safe where he could become reacquainted with himself. And then he didn't want to enter another Precursor ruin for a long, long time. Now that he had his body back, he wanted to protect it, like a new zoomer, and never let it get hurt again. No scratching the paint job before he had a chance to show it off… For whatever time he was allowed to keep it.

Because it just couldn't be this easy. He wasn't meant to have what he wanted. It just wasn't his fate. Somehow, someway, he would lose his body. It would revert. It would turn to goo. It would fall down a chasm, into a pit of black eco, or be taken over by an orb. If the powers that be wanted him to be happy, he'd have been born someone else.

Something clanked behind him, and Dax crouched and aimed. His gun shook for a moment in his hand… then his muscles seemed to loose their rubber and he felt something click inside his gut.

"You know what?" he said to no one. "Fuck fate. This is _my_ life, and for once I'm going to run it _my_ way. I don't have to hang out in no Precursor death traps if I don't want to. It's my choice."

Yeah, that's it. That's the spirit. It seemed like the walls were giving him a bit more respect.

Things were going to have to change. No two ways about it. And the first thing that would have to change was that Dax was going to have to stop letting the world push him around and learn be his own master. He was a goddamn grown-up after all, it was well past time he took responsibility for his own destiny.

Daxter stood up straight and tall and stared at the machinery around him. Daring it to frighten him.

"Screw you, Precursors, I'm not putting up with your games anymore," he scolded echoing ruin. "I'm a _man_, now, hear? Not anyone's pet."

Dax lowered the weapon. There was nothing to shoot but shadows, and he wasn't chickenshit enough to do that.

"No more mooching off of Jak," Dax vowed, his voice echoing around the circular room. "Hear that, Precursors? I'm going to get _my own_ job, with _my own_ pay. Which is going to go to _my own_ apartment, where me and Tess can finally be a real couple. And you, my dear, long dead friends, are going to finally fuck off and leave me alone."

Yeah, that sounded great. That was exactly what he needed. A healthy, normal life from now on. Sign him up.

And it would be so good for Jak, too. It really would. The dude could finally get a bit of privacy in his life, and Precursors knew he needed it. Jak could bring home his girlfriend-of-the-week, have a nice, normal romantic time, and not have ole Dax being a fifth wheel. After all the good Jak did for the world, he damn well deserved some quality time with the ladies without worrying about his sidekick walking in on him at inopportune moments.

Dax's face reddened at the memory. Memories. That was a little social faux pas that had happened way too often.

Worst part? It didn't faze Jak at all. The guy had no modesty when it came to Dax. It was the girlfriends who always took askance. And Dax, of course, who'd chew Jak out for not warning him and then leap right back out the window. Jak, he'd just shrug it off. He was too big to be embarassed about those kind of things.

Mmm.

Come to think of it, in his own way, Dax had caused just as many problems with Jak's love life, as Jak had with his. Dax knew for a fact that Keira had dumped Jak over him. It was kinda hard to miss his name in the screaming arguments. Ashelin lasted a couple of months, but ultimately she had gotten frustrated by the fact that Jak preferred racing cars with Dax over romantic moonlit walks with her. Dax had known that ditching her was pretty un-cool and had felt guilty about it… but at the same time, hey, cars….

Not that it ultimately mattered. Keira and Ashelin may have thrown up their hands in disgust, but there were plenty less picky fish in the sea. All Jak had to do was smile at a girl and she was his -- for a week or two.

Which was good, because on those occasions (and they were pretty frequent) when Jak wasn't seeing a girl… he took care of his own needs, to put it politely. If anything that was more embarrassing than walking in on him and a girl. Let's just say, there had been a couple of times (four) when Dax'd been sleeping comfy on Jak's chest and been woken by an "earthquake."

Ew. That wasn't right. Privacy was definitely a good idea.

No more Pet Thing. He'd yelled it, but now it was just beginning to sink in. I'm not a pet anymore. I'm _not_ a pet.

What kind of sick idea was that, anyway? Now that he thought about it, his whole relationship with Jak had been downright _kinky_ if you looked at it the right way. He was an elf after all, had been one before he'd turned into an ottsel, was one again now. And he'd spent the last six years being petted and cuddled by his best _male_ friend. Sleeping in his bed. Drinking from his cup. Being _hand fed_ -- in front of their mutual friends, no less.

Er… yeah. Dax made a face. Suddenly he was a lot less eager to see Torn's expression when he saw his new body.

Everything would have to change. Makers, that was a scary thought.

* * *

Something, somewhere, fell tinkling and clattering its way from a high spot to a place out of Dax's hearing. Where was Jak? It had to be hours now. The shaft of sunlight had moved significantly across the floor. How hard was it to buy a freaking pair of pants? Oh, please don't let him have fallen off his zoomer and broken his neck.

Dax felt heady with relief moments later when he saw Jak walk through the door again.

_I'm not going to complain about how long he took,_ Dax thought. He bit his tongue for good measure, but then released it to say. "Hey, was there a line?" No, no, that's not what he meant. He meant: "Glad you're back this place is kinda spooky when you're all alone." Did that sound like a complaint? Yeah, it kind of did.

Jak wasn't smiling. Instead he pulled a folded bundle of cloth out of his pack. There were two pieces, a dung brown shirt, and pair of matching trousers. Even laid out on the floor, Dax could tell they were not his size. What the hell? Had Jak mistaken Dax for Mitch or something?

Not in any kind of an accusatory way, Dax lifted up the pants and held them to his hips. Holy crap, he could fit himself _and_ Mitch into these.

Jak shrugged up a shoulder in sheepish apology. "You look bigger than you used to be."

"Not that big." Dax was grumbling again. "Admit it, you just grabbed the first thing you saw, and you didn't even bother to check the size." Was Jak embarrassed to be shopping for clothes for a guy other than himself or something? The dude's sense of macho showed up in the most peculiar places. Dax couldn't understand it. But maybe that was because he himself had been out of the macho circuit so long. He'd have to work on that.

Jak raised both shoulders this time, and awarded Dax with a goofy grin. "I got a belt."

Dax bit back some pretty cutting comments, because he was grateful, damn it. With the cuffs folded over three or four times, and the belt synched in he was able to keep the pants from sliding off his narrow hips. Barely. It would have to do.

* * *

You know, it's rather hard to climb your way out of a Precursor ruin with your pants around your ankles. And it didn't help having your best friend roaring his head off about it, either.

"Don't laugh," warned Dax the third time his pants slipped. "You were the one who picked these out." Jak muffled his response behind his forearm.

Dax pulled his pants back up and then chuckled. _Okay,_ he admitted, _It is pretty good comedy. _

Or rather it was -- right up to the point where those damn pants _nearly killed him._ Then it got unfunny in a big hurry.

They were almost out of the ruin, just one last itty-bitty pit to cross. More of a crack than anything else. Jak leaped lightly over it without a second thought.

Dax followed, taking one wide step forward, ready to spring. Then at the worst possible moment, the pants slipped past his hips again, falling inconveniently to his knees. Instead of a graceful jump, his front half went forward, while his legs stayed behind. He dropped face first into the hole.

Jak's reflexes kicked in and he grabbed Dax by the scruff of his oversized shirt. Dax's arms stretched out and clawed into the lip of the ravine. Then he felt the pants slip down to his ankles. Quicker than he thought he could, he pulled himself up and out, barely able to hook the pants on his foot before they fell off and were lost forever down a pit that could have been miles deep for all Dax knew.

The whole incident had lasted about two seconds, but in Dax's mind it had gone on for an eon.

Dax lay, naked from the waist down, on the dusty, cold and crumbling floor, breathing hard while his heart attempted to leap out of his rib cage. He kicked the offending pair of pants the rest of the way off and beat his fist against the ground in anger and frustration, while Jak bent over and watched with a bewildered expression on his face, as if the fact that Dax had nearly lost his fucking life were just some ordinary daily activity.

Which, fuck it – it _was_.

Goddamn it. God Fucking Damn It!

Screw this shit! There was no way he was going back into another Precursor Ruin again. No way. NEVER!


	3. Chapter 3: Vanity

* * *

**Chapter 3: Vanity**

**

* * *

**

"Hey, beautiful," said Jak with an indulgent laugh. "Like what you see?" He leaned casually against the door jam, rubbing his small greenish goatee thoughtfully.

"Oh, hell, yes," said Dax.

He barely afforded Jak a glance before turning back to admire his own face in the apartment's narrow bathroom mirror. "Why didn't you say that my teeth were normal?" Dax opened his mouth, and there they were, straight and flat, right where they should be. He closed his mouth and holy cow, his lips met and his teeth disappeared. They'd never done that before. Thank _you_, Precursors!

"I did say you looked different. And I wouldn't call those exactly normal. They are still too big for your face."

"Big, yes, but they aren't sticking out of my mouth like I'm some backwoods hick who sucked his thumb until he was fifteen."

"If you'd stopped sucking your thumb like everyone told you to…"

"Yeah, yeah… bad habits aren't that easy to toss, Jak. Just be glad you don't have any."

Jak turned his head away, thoughtful. Dax shrugged and went back to looking at his marvelous mouth. It looked great compared to what it had been, but Jak was right, the teeth were too big. Dax felt a fluttering in his stomach.

"Do ya think Tess'll like me," he asked, stepping back from the mirror and nervously straightening the collar of his new shirt. "She's never seen the real me before. What if she thought I looked like you?"

Even with the normal teeth, Dax wasn't exactly handsome. He wasn't _ugly_ either. But his face was a bit thinner than fashionable, his mouth a lot too wide. He had a chin, but it wasn't nearly as strong as he would have wanted. Though adulthood had put a bit of noticeable muscle on his limbs, he still was narrow-shouldered and gangly… and wow, he had a lot of flaws.

But he did have character in spades. Chicks liked that, didn't they? And hey, compared to being furry, he was dazzling. _Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Dax._

"Why would she think you looked like me?" asked Jak.

"I don't know," said Dax with mild irritation. "Because we came from the same village."

"Keira comes from the same village, I don't."

"Of course not, silly me." The only native Sandoverans in Haven City were Keira and himself. Tess was aware of this, just as she was aware of pretty much every detail of Dax's life. Except for Keira's obvious girl parts and her dark hair, there was a definite cousinly resemblance between her and Dax. Which kinda sucked for poor Keira. Compared to the other teenage girls in Sandover Village, she'd had been a knockout – but put up against City folk, she was really nothing spectacular to look at. Calling her ugly was unfair, but the move had been a major comeuppance. Dax felt a bit sorry for her.

Jak and Seamus, on the other hand, were only Sandoveran by adoption. They came from no-where at the time of the fourth great Elf/Lurker war, when orphans were plenty, and confusion high. Jak fit right in, in every sense except that he was much more eye-pleasing than any kid Sandover had ever put out.

Dax felt a pang of jealousy.

"She'll like you just fine," said Jak. For a moment, just a moment, Dax saw an odd kind of bitterness in his eye. What was up with that? Dax shrugged it off. Jak was phenomenally good at being enigmatic. It was best not to read too much into the occasional broods.

"Besides," Jak continued after a pause, "It's just as well you don't look like me. I don't appear to be her type."

"Yeah," said Dax, relaxing. It was true and one of Tess's endearing traits. Most chicks at least turned their head when Jak walked into a room. Not Tess – her eyes had settled on Dax from the start, and they'd never strayed. Tess had chosen _him_ over all the elves in the city.

"Well, okay, I'm as gorgeous as I'm ever going to be," said Dax, smoothing down his thick red hair until it brushed against his shoulders in a style not too different from Jak's. He gave a symbolic tug to his new, properly fitting pants, making sure that they held to the proper spot on his jutting hipbones. "Let's go do this."

Jak nodded, picking up the backpack with the changing device and several packs of light eco. "Tess'll be happy when she learns she can be an elf again."

* * *

But Tess wasn't happy. No, that's an understatement. Tess was devastated.

She'd retreated to Mitch immediately, a little ball of gold and red curled tight on the shelf of his shoulder, her tiny paw splayed out, claws caught into the weave of the gunsmiths shirt.

She refused to recognize Dax. Not even when he spoke, which Dax thought would be a dead give away. The one thing about him that hadn't changed when he'd fallen into that pool of black eco was his voice. Dax knew ottsel body language well enough to tell that she was tense. The hair on her back was fluffed out. The way she twitched her tail suggested deep agitation.

The machine room of Mitch's gun smithy seemed to grow colder. This was a fucking nightmare.

"Tess, babe, say something."

"It's not a funny joke." Yeah, that was definite hurt in her voice. And anger, too.

"No joke babe, It's me," said Dax, reassuringly. "It really is. Why would we kid around about this? If you don't believe it's me, then ask me a question. Something only you and I would know."

Tess didn't say anything, but her tail flapped once against Mitch's thick neck. Mitch reached up a hand and very gently caressed her back. The moment stretched… and stretched. Everyone held still. Jak, blank faced, held the device at his side in case Tess wanted to see it. Mitch sat splayed-legged on his bench, eyes cast down to the floor, petting Tess's fur. Dax just stood, quivering on his two legs, feeling more desperate with every second.

"Why?" she said, finally breaking the silence. "Why would you do this?"

Dax's heart broke. "Tessy, you know that I've wanted to be an elf again. You've known that the entire time I've known you. Jak and I have been searching for this since… way before we met. Tess, this is my dream."

"Well you never gave me that impression," said Tess. The bitterness was thick. "You mentioned it once or twice, but I thought you'd given it up. I thought you were happy with me."

This was beginning to sound a lot like one of those awkward relationship moments Jak had right before the girl threw up her hands and walked out. Dax was very aware of Jak and Mitch sitting there in silence listening to this _romantic failure_ go down. He reached up and pulled a bit at the tight collar of his shirt. "Tess, why don't you let Jak change you. We can talk about this afterwards."

"No, Dax."

"Why not???"

"Maybe I don't want to be an Elf."

Dax became exasperated. "Tess, you don't want to be an ottsel! Aren't you tired of being dependant? Aren't you just sick of people treating you like an animal?"

"Not everyone treats me like an animal," said Tess.

"Yeah, those who don't treat you like you are some godly being, and put you up on a pedestal. Don't tell me you actually _like_ that." _Oh, that came out well…_ Dax grabbed his hair and made to tear it out. "Come on, Tess – everything you want, you can have. You can be a smith again. You can go where you like. I can finally take you out to a decent dinner–"

"You think I'm ugly like this." She buried her head in one of Mitch's mutton chops.

"No!" said Dax. "You are beautiful in every form. But Tess, you gotta know this limits you. I know how hard it is to be an ottsel. I've lived the life longer than you."

"I'm a _Precursor,_ Dax. You were too! Do you know how special that is? What a privilege?"

"Oh Tess… Tess." Damn that fucking lie! Dax wanted to just squeeze the life out of those thieving bastard ottsels. How to spin this? Because something told him that Tess was not going to accept the truth. "Being a Precursor was fun… but their time is gone. They had their run a thousand years ago, and a good run it was. But now's the time for Elves. This world is just not made for Precursors anymore."

Dax came close and reached out a hand to pet her, but Tesses fur bristled and she scrambled away, off of Mitch and onto a nearby lathe.

"Tess, I love you. And I know you aren't happy being an Ot—Precursor. Please, let Jak change you, and we can be together, the way were meant to be."

"You don't know anything about me," Tess said, her voice a wail. "You just think I'm some silly girl who made a bad decision. Maybe this is the life I always wanted. I _like_ being a Precursor. I've always liked the way they looked. I like the way I can climb, and how cute and small I am, and that people cherish me. Why should I give that up? For you?"

"I thought you became an ottsel because you wanted to be with me," said Dax.

"Well then you are just full of yourself!" Tess said, and then leaped from the lathe and scrambled away across the parts-strewn floor. She was out of the open door and up the stairs before anyone could say anything.

"Tess… for Gods sake…" Dax took two steps, but Mitch blocked the way.

"Give her some time," he said in his deep gravely voice.

"Come on," said Jak, grabbing Dax's shoulder and pushing him away.

Dax's mind was reeling. It made no sense. None at all. It was impossible. He'd seen the misery Tess had been in the last year. She should have been just as happy as Dax. It was their dream come true. How could she choose to stay a fucking animal?

Was it because of how he looked? Was she repulsed by him now that he was an Elf? Was this some safe way for her to reject him? That was his secret nightmare in a nutshell. It was hard not to look at Mitch. Damn it, the only elf Tess had actually shown any sort of interest in, and you couldn't get more opposite and still be within the same species. Maybe the problem wasn't handsomeness, so much as it was bulk. Was he just too _wimpy_ for Tess?

Dax blinked back tears of frustration and hurt. It just wasn't fair. After all this time and effort. It just fucking wasn't fair.

Jak was pushing him out the door. Dax let himself be pushed, he wanted to get out of the situation and he wasn't thinking straight. But in the empty reception area Jak paused, pulled Dax's face up. Jak had that guilty look on his face, that real, heart on his sleeve concern. He reached up and wiped Dax's cheek with the ball of his thumb.

Dax slapped the hand in anger and jerked away, ashamed that Jak had noticed his weakness. "I'm not one of your girlfriends, Jak," he said.

Jak said nothing, just got all stony and stoic, the way he always did when faced with a situation he didn't know what the fuck to do with. Well, good for him, that made two of them. Dax had no fucking idea what to do either.

He spun away, stalking out the door, painting a "do not talk to me" look on his face so strong that the passers-by on the street actually jumped away as he passed.

* * *

Wanna hear a joke? After years of hard work and risk, a Loser finally gets the one thing he wants more than anything else – and all he wants to do is toss it away and go back to how he was.

* * *

Sometime later Dax found himself walking down a narrow pot-holed street near the lake. The sun had fallen behind the tiled roofs of some nearby row houses, and blue shadows stretched across the road into the water. The normal traffic of the day had finally calmed down, and for a bit the city seemed peaceful. Dax abruptly stopped near a pile of broken cement pillars. Finding a flat spot, he sat down and watched a lone workman struggle to resurrect the roof a bombed out building.

Dax was exhausted.

The City looked exhausted too. Three years of almost continuous civil war had left a messy footprint. Now that there was something of a truce, people were doing the best they could to rebuild. Every bent girder, and broken brick was just one more thing that needed to cleaned up. Piles of new rubbish sat along piles of old, making ever-larger mounds of debris. And there were no guarantees that the current guys would be able to hold on to power long enough for the rebuilding to be finished. Even a year after the last war ended, there were still periodic bombs being set off and random gunfire bursting out in the night. Who were the current sides these days? Dax didn't know.

Was any of this worth it?

Dax missed Sandover. He missed the warm water, the swaying palm trees, the bright green pastures and pocketed cliffs where birds nested. There had been a sense of peace there. He remembered the comfortable banality of rushing through his chores and lessons to get to the brief but sweet afternoons. In those hours he and Jak explored all the tiny, insignificant mysteries a tropical sea village could muster up. And when he came home, hungry and nursing scratches, it was to the comfort of a large dinner and the quiet simple acceptance of his elderly foster parents.

Of course Sandover hadn't been peaceful. Sometimes you could actually hear the Lurker's crude canons echoing off the cliffs. Dax had just been less aware of the war. When his parents had been caught in the first disastrous push he'd only been a toddler and Elf/Lurker politics were far beyond his grasp. His foster parents were frail and retiring, but kind hearted in their own way and did their best to steer him away from anything they thought might disturb or scare him. They fretted a bit over his minor boyhood adventures, and admonished him to stay away from the precursor ruins. If only he'd listened to them.

But he didn't. And now he was here. And there was no going back to those innocent days; he'd just have to make due with what he had.

Dax watched the lone worker climb up to the roof of the renovated building. The elf reminded Dax a bit of himself -- wirey and small, but brave in an ordinary way, leaning out dangerously to nail planks over the framing.

Elves may not be Precursors, but they weren't too bad at this building thing. If only they weren't also so good at the tearing stuff down part, too. But who is to say the Precursors didn't have that trouble as well. After all, a thousand years ago there were a billion of them – and then, overnight apparently, there were none. Maybe in order to be a maker you also had to risk being a destroyer, and it was all part of one great loop of creation.

A sharp clanging noise and a curse brought Dax out of his thoughts. The hammer had slipped from the worker's hand and had slid down the slope of the roof and then had fallen onto a metal barrel just a dozen feet away from where Dax was sitting.

Dax got up and walked over, picking up the tool.

"Hey can you throw that up?" asked the roofer.

Dax considered it, if he missed he'd probably end up braining himself. If he succeeded he might end up braining the roofer.

"Never mind, I'll get it," said the roofer, with a weary tone.

"Nah, you stay there, I'll come up," said Dax suddenly. He tucked the tool in the waist of his pants and lept up, catching one of the beams. He pulled up the way he'd seen Jak do countless times before, the way he once had when he was younger. His muscles remembered, and in a minute he'd pulled himself up onto the roof. Not too different from cliff climbing back in the old days, actually. It was kind of nice not to have a bottomless pit under him if he slipped.

The roofer whistled. "I would have used the ladder, but, damn, man, you can climb."

Dax thought about how he'd scrambled up pretty much anything and everything as an ottsel in half the time and with twice the grace. "Not as good as use to be." He handed the tool over.

The elf tucked the hammer back into his utility belt, then scanned Dax over. "Want a job."

"What?" asked Dax taken aback. He looked to see if the guy was serious. The guy looked to be in his mid forties, weather tanned and sweaty, with a short ruff of hand-chopped black hair. He seemed a bit too old and tired to be pulling a practical joke on a stranger.

"Helping me put this roof on," the man said, as if that were the point that needed clarifying. "I lost my apprentice yesterday." He looked serious. "He nearly killed himself in a fall. I could use a guy who's sure on his feet."

Dax barely heard him. His mind whirled. Someone was actually offering him a job! Just like that! _Him!_ Pride stirred warmly in him and his depression seemed to evaporate. He forgot about Tess. "Oh hell yeah. Sure."

"Pay's not great," the guy warned, "And the hours are long, but the work is steady."

My own paycheck, thought Dax giddy. I'm a real Elf. "When can I start?"

"Right now… you can help me get that tarp over this roof. The priests say it's gonna rain tonight." The worker wiped his smudged and sweaty face with an equally smudged and sweaty forearm.

"Yessir," said Dax.

* * *

It was fully dark when Dax reached home, with five coins in his pocket that hadn't been there that morning. Actually the pocket hadn't been there that morning, either. Dax paused a moment, dizzy. It hadn't even been twelve hours since Light hit him with that ecobeam, and already he'd waded through more major life changes than he had in the last two years. If anything more happened today, Dax was sure he'd suffer mental whiplash.

Still, he couldn't complain. Those coins in his pocket were _his_, earned by the sweat of his own brow. Not Jak's, and not charity from Seamus or Torn, either. His legs and arms ached from the exercise, but it was a good ache. An empowering ache. At twenty-one and a half years old, he was finally a man in every sense of the word.

_Watch out world. Orange Lightning's gonna take you by storm!_Dax grabbed a hold of a signpost, swung about and sent himself down the short, private alleyway between buildings that lead to his second story apartment.

Jak was sitting on the steps. As soon as Dax approached, Jak stood up and walked back into the apartment without a word.

_Okay,_ thought Dax with a raised eyebrow. _Moody, it is._

"Hey, Jak," said Dax as he walked in the door. "Were you worried about me?" He turned to kick off his shoes at the door, next to Jak's boots. _His_ shoes. He wiggled his toes within his socks. God, it was great to wear shoes. Even greater to take them off after stomping around in them for a couple of hours.

Jak grunted. He lifted a pot off the stove and ladled something into a bowl. It was some kind of stew, mostly cool and somewhat congealed, but Dax's stomach immediately gave it its stamp of approval. He lit into the luke warm broth, potatoes, and meat with gusto, downing the first bowl before going back to scrape the remnants out of the pot. He noticed Jak's bowl already in the sink. Uh yeah -- Jak.

Jak was still sitting sullenly at the table, staring out into space.

"So anyway," said Dax as if there wasn't a dark cloud of impending doom hanging over the apartment. "Strangest thing happened to me when I was out. Some guy actually hired me. Can you imagine, Jak? Me? Getting a job just like that? I didn't even ask, he just said, 'hey you, wanna work?' and I said 'sure' and I'm employed."

Dax wasn't sure what he expected. Maybe a "congratulations." That wasn't what he got. Instead Jak's face darkened and his glower deepened. Dax knew the look – it was one of those "hey Daxter you really screwed up this time" looks. Honestly they were rare enough that it made Dax's heart stutter a bit, and his mind raced to find anything he could have done to piss Jak off. Was it running off? It wasn't as if they were completely joined at the hip – Dax wandered the City on his own many times.

"What?" Dax said.

"You already have a job," said Jak. "Torn's paying us to find a route to those eco-vents."

Dax put down his spoon. Oh, for heaven's sake. "_You_ have a job. Torn never paid me to do anything."

Jak's head went down. "So, you are splitting up the team, just like that. No warning." His voice was softer, full of deep hurt.

Dax felt his gut tighten queasily around the stew. He hadn't thought of it that way. Honestly, he hadn't thought of Jak's reaction at all. He'd been too wrapped up in his own accomplishment and independence to contemplate the fact that that he could be deserting his friend. "Jak… I…" Dax searched for words and found his brain curiously gone stupid. "I can't sit on your shoulder anymore."

"I don't expect you to sit on my shoulder."

"I'd get in your way, Jak." Dax thought of going back into a precursor ruin and shuddered. _Never again._ Dax looked down at his reedy arms. "I mean, honestly, Jak, look at me. I'd be a liability like this. You saw me on the way out. I nearly got myself killed – and you were right there with me."

Jak grunted.

"Damn it, Jak, don't ask for me to go risking myself right now. I just got my body back."

Jak got up from the table and put the empty pot in the sink. He turned on the tap and water rushed out.

Fuck, thought Dax. Then inspiration hit. "The job I got is as a roofer. I'll be doing a lot of climbing and physical labor. I'll get strong, sharpen my skills. Maybe in a couple of months I'll be able to jump through those Precursor mazes like you do."

Jak turned off the tap and there was a moment of silence before he started scrubbing.

Dax felt a burn of frustration. "Damn it, Jak. Can't I even have one day to be happy about being and Elf? It's bad enough that Tess is mad at me, now you too? What am I supposed to do here?"

Jak's shoulders slouched. "I'm sorry."

"We'll be a team again, Jak," said Dax. "I promise you. Just… give me a bit of time."

Dax could feel the Precursors invisible fingers reaching out to pull him back in.

* * *

That night, Dax nestled down on the couch, wrapping the winter blanket around him like a swaddled baby. His mind and body had been pushed beyond their limits and he was so far past exhausted that he actually found it difficult to settle down and sleep. Little bits of unwanted information kept creeping into his consciousness – the rub of the fabric against his skin, the way his joints bent. Did he like to sleep on his side? Or would he find it easier to sleep on his back? It had been such a long time that he couldn't remember how he slept as an elf, and sleeping with his nose tucked against his ankles wasn't exactly an option. Dax twisted, struggled, unwrapped and rewrapped himself.

Finally something gave out and he fell asleep -- only to wake up with the sound of a querying whine. Dax's eyes flew open. He was curled on his side, and the noise was coming from the darkened bedroom.

"Da-" it came. "Dax?"

Dax breathed deeply. Shit, Jak always slept poorly when Dax wasn't on his chest. There really wasn't any reason why tonight would be different. Except tonight was different. Dax couldn't climb up on Jak's chest to sleep. He might be small compared to Jak, but he wasn't _that_ small.

"Dax!" there was panic in Jak's voice.

Daxter struggled his way out of the blanket and ran into the bedroom. In the dim light from the window he could see Jak flailing about, patting the bed around him as if searching for something. Despite all this, Dax knew Jak wasn't really awake.

Daxter reached out his hand and patted Jak's shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm just out on the couch."

Jak flinched away and he bolted up in a sitting position looking around the dim, moonlit bedroom. "Dax?" he asked, this time his voice was crisper, the muffled quality of sleep gone. "What's up?"

"What's up? You were calling for me in your sleep!" Dax sat down on the edge of the bed, and propped his forehead on the palm of his hand. Man, he was too tired for this.

"Oh," said Jak. "Sorry." He lay back, rolled over onto his side and tucked his blankets around him.

"S'okay," said Dax. "Get some sleep."

"Mmm." And apparently Jak did just that. Daxter watched the gentle rise and fall of Jak's chest for a minute, then got up and dragged his own weary bones back to the couch. He pulled himself back into the curled up position he'd woken up in, hoping that it would be easier to fall asleep this time. It took a couple of minutes, but he got there and…

He was woken but a muffled but alarmed cry. Blinking he looked around the dark room. Had he gotten any sleep at all? Jak cried out again a soft but frightened guttural grunt. Dax fought gravity that had apparently doubled in strength sometime during the night. Nonetheless, he managed to get to the bedroom before Jak reached a full panic.

"I'm here, I'm here."

Jak snuffled and woke up again. "What?"

"Oh Makers, Jak," said Dax rubbing his face. "I swear, first thing tomorrow I'm buying you a stuffed animal." There went those 5 coppers, but it would be worth it.

"Sorry. I don't mean to keep waking you."

Dax's heart softened. "Hey, at least I feel wanted."

Jak laughed a little. "Okay, you get some sleep, Dax."

"I will if you'll let me."

Dax was in the middle of a dream when he heard Jak crying again. His sleeping mind tried to rationalize it away, turning it into some child in the street, and then to Jak nagging him about putting away his shoes, but finally the sheer alarmed quality of it broke through Dax's inner defenses and he woke up.

"Dax! Dax!" Jak was still asleep.

"I'm just over here!" yelled Dax. "Go to sleep!" The neighbors were _not_ going to be pleased with them tomorrow. But that appeared to mollify Jak and he went quiet for a while.

The next time Jak woke up, Dax pretended he didn't hear, and eventually Jak either gave up or woke up on his own. Dax couldn't go to sleep for a while after that. Instead he stared at the wall, feeling vaguely ashamed of his own selfishness.

_Jak fears change._

With good reason, apparently, Dax thought wryly.

Only a real Loser can screw up success this badly.

* * *

A/N: Just a warning: This is an Angst fic, so suffice it to say when the sex comes up, it's going to have some issues and reservations attached. Don't expect this to turn into fluff or WAFF.

This is chapter 3 of 8.


	4. Chapter 4: Picking Battles

* * *

**Picking Battles**

* * *

**  
**

By the next day, Dax was wondering why the hell he thought doing construction was such a good idea. His body _hurt_, and with every tile he laid his muscles complained that much louder. And it wasn't even _noon_ yet.

There were other elves at the house now – working on the walls and floor, putting in plumbing. Most were built more along Jak's lines than Dax's, and none of them complained. Dax found himself constantly scanning his coworkers for cues as to how to conduct himself. As of yet, none of them had a clue that he'd been an ottsel for years, and he didn't want to give them any reason to think he was anything other than an ordinary elf.

The foreman's whistle hurt Dax's ears, but it also lifted his heart. Finally, he could take a break and not look like a complete wimp for it. His biceps throbbed in time with his hammering heart, all he wanted was to get to his backpack. He walked down a plank not much wider than his hand, which slanted from the roof he was working on to the gutted second story of the adjacent building. He then took the stairs down to the ground.

He found an elf who had introduced himself as Arne sitting on a pile of boards by Dax's pack, munching on a sandwich. To Dax's consternation, one of the elf's oversized boots was propped up on the pack, using it like some sort of footstool.

"Hey, Arne –"

The bricklayer interrupted him. "You're pretty sure on your feet aren't you."

Dax quirked up an eyebrow. "What do ya mean?" He wanted the guys foot off his pack. The compliment kind of threw him off guard.

"Was watching you working up there, you walk about on those skinny boards like they were the floor. Don't you ever lose your balance?"

"Not really," said Dax feeling more irritated. "Hey, move your leg, I need my pack."

Arne looked down, shrugged and moved his foot. "You look pretty flexible."

What the fuck? "Yeah, thanks."

Shaking his head, Dax reached for his pack. He lifted it with one arm which screamed in protest and threatened to turn to jello, but thankfully didn't while he was within eyesight of Arne. There was something about the guy that was just… annoying. Dax didn't know if it was just some kind of social cluelessness or if the guy was just a being a jackass. He could tell instinctively that the guy would hone in on any weakness Dax showed. Dax would rather not let the bricklayer see him taking the green stuff.

Dax scanned around for a spot where he could get a moment of privacy, and found it in the half destroyed bedroom of the neighboring building. Once he was out of direct eyesight of any of his coworkers he reached down into the bag and found the egg-sized container. He scanned again to make sure that no one was looking, and then, without even completely taking it out of his backpack, he pressed his fingers into the weak part of the packaging, cracking it and releasing its contents.

There was a brief green glow, as the eco spilled out, hovered, then honed in on his skin of his hand. Dax sighed as he felt the cool tingle of the eco penetrating. Pain he hadn't realized he felt eased in his fingers, then swept up his arm with the speed of his heartbeat. In seconds the throbbing eased and his heated muscles seemed to cool and relax. Ahh.

He would have done that hours ago if he'd seen anyone else on the site use eco, but they seemed to grunt and deal with their minor injuries. Dax started to kick himself for being a wimp, but then stopped. _You know,_ he thought. _Most the guys here would piss themselves if they faced some of the Precursor death traps I used to deal with. I don't need to hurt to prove my manliness._

His arms were complaining again by the time the foreman's final whistle blew, but not so much as they had before. Dax had figured how much he could lift without straining, and how far he could reach out before his muscles tore. The time had passed rather swiftly, and all in all he couldn't complain. He put the tarp back over the raw planking, made sure the supplies were where they needed to be, and then dropped himself nimbly down to the first floor to join the line of guys waiting to get their day's pay.

"Hey fire-rat, wanna get a beer with us?" Dax turned and saw a bunch of workers clumped together in a way that suggested camaraderie. Dax's tongue tingled with the idea of beer and he felt a warmth in his chest at being included as "one of the guys." It would probably be a good idea to go and be friendly…

But… then again, maybe not.

"Eh, promised I'd meet a girl," said Dax waving them off. "She worries about me when I don't show on time." Other than the gender, it wasn't a lie. The group nodded and turned away heading up the street. Dax turned around and went the opposite direction, feeling mildly guilty about denying Jak's existence to his new mates.

He wasn't sure why he didn't want to own up to Jak. Maybe it was because Jak had such a huge reputation. Everyone knew him, and frankly, he terrified most of them. Sure anyone who actually got to know Jak realized he was really a sweet, soft-hearted dude, but that wasn't the face most people got to meet. They were far more aware of him as the guy who walked through the town, guns blazing, knocking down the Krimson Guard and monsters alike as though they were sticks.

Everyone knew _things_ had been done to Jak that made him not quite Elven anymore – and not just cuz he turned into Dark. Sure, Dark Jak scared the ever-loving shit out the populace, but if anything regular Jak was worse in your average elf's eyes. Regular Jak didn't just randomly destroy things – he logically and thoroughly dismantled them. If there was any hint of a weak spot, he exploited it. He was imaginative and determined and utterly fearless. He couldn't be bribed or threatened and he rarely compromised. Not one, but _two_ administrations had fallen to good ole _normal_ Jak's largely solo efforts.

Even the dullest elf could get the hint -- you just did not _oppose_ Jak if you were fond of your head being attached to your shoulders. Killing Jak was too damn hard, and even _exiling_ Jak, all neat and legal, wasn't a solution. He just came back -- when he felt like it. Armed to the teeth and backed up with a cunning plan.

If anything, the City goers were surprised that Jak hadn't just set himself up as king – he could have, after all. No one would have dared say no to it, and some would probably found it a relief if he had. But politics on the whole didn't interest Jak and he was just as glad there was someone else willing to take on the job. Most of the time he didn't interfere. Most of the time he found a reason to avoid elves altogether.

That's a pretty dark shadow to be stuck behind.

Call it selfishness, but Dax liked the fact that when his mates saw him, they were seeing _him_, and not "that guy who hangs out with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Fucked-With." He wanted them to like him because he was likable, not because they were afraid of what Jak would do to them if they didn't.

Still, the idea of denying Jak's existence made Dax's guts squirm with uncomfortable guilt. Not many dudes would take care of their friends to the extent Jak had taken care of him. That was more than loyalty or friendship there. That was love. You just didn't treat that kind of thing callously, unless you were a real jerk.

_Am I being a real jerk?_ Dax wondered. _I probably am. Fuck._

Sure enough by the time he got home Jak was sitting on the steps waiting for him with sad eyed expectation. Lonely. That's the other side of being He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Fucked-With, you tended to scare off potential buddies. The chicks kinda liked Jak's badboy qualities, but the other guys? Yeah there were a few who wanted to toadie up to him – those Jak put on a show to scare off. Other than that there were a few guys like Torn and Semos who were badass enough in their own right not to be intimidated. But they were always too deep into their own business to really have time to hang.

Up to now, Dax had filled that niche.

"Hey, Jak," Dax called out. "Let's head over to the Naughty Ottsel. I could really use a beer."

"Sure." Jak perked up.

* * *

Jak's now familiar worried bellow woke Dax again. He rolled over and wrapped his pillow around his ear, willing it to go away, but of course it didn't. The moaning turned heartbreakingly plaintive, and Dax sighed. This was nuts. It had been four days since his transformation. They both had jobs to do. Jobs that required them being sharp and rested. Surely Jak's subconscious must have figured out by now that Dax wasn't a furry critter that needed accounting for.

Daxter's arms and legs felt like lead weights as he dragged himself across the floor, one palm pressed against his eye socket hard enough to make false patches of light bloom against his closed lid. He nearly tripped on something soft near the door to the single bedroom. Reflexes kicked in and he jumped, landing upright without needing to wave his hands too much for balance. He reached down and picked up a cuddly stuffed ottsel.

Well there was money well spent.

Sighing, Dax looked down at his buddy, framed in the dim light of his open window. Jak lay stretched across the bed, one hand feeling frantically for the ottsel who wasn't there. Who would never be there again. Dax sighed, and came to a decision.

"Move over Jak," said Dax.

"Mmm?" With a slight cough, Jak pulled himself up to a sitting position. "Dax?"

"Skootch," said Dax. "If you can't sleep with me ten feet away, I guess I better get in there with you. I can't have you falling in a pit tomorrow because you are tired."

Dax wasn't sure what he expected Jak to say or do, but he was faintly surprised when Jak quickly moved to make space for him. He could almost feel the relief coming off his partner, as though Jak had been waiting for Dax to do this for some time, but couldn't quite bear to ask.

"Thanks, Dax."

"You know," said Dax. "You can admit you miss me sleeping with you. It's not gay or anything. Well, okay, maybe it is a bit, but I won't tell if you won't."

"You wanted space."

Oh so true. But not at this price. "Eh, I get plenty of space during the day."

Jak didn't say anything to that, and Dax refused to rise to the silent bait. Going back into the Precursor ruins was _not_ currently on the table for negotiation, and he wasn't going to let the big guy guilt him into it. Dax knew full well that Jak couldn't give up his job, but that didn't mean that Dax had to take up, too. Friendship didn't require them to spend their every waking minute together. Dax wasn't going to start up that conversation again. Maybe by spending time with him at night it would make up for the loneliness he must be feeling during the day.

The bed had seemed a lot larger when Dax was an ottsel, but, contrary to his first worry, there was plenty of room for both of them. Dax felt Jak's hand briefly touch his shoulder, and a huff of warm breath across the back of his neck, but otherwise Jak seemed content to keep to his own side. Within minutes Dax had fallen asleep, and when he next woke up it was morning, and Jak had already crawled off the end of the bed and was headed for the bathroom.

Dax sat up and rubbed his face with fingers. So much for losing this bad habit.

* * *

The roof was finished that Tuesday and the foreman gave Dax the option of taking a two day break or pushing on immediately at a different work site. Dax didn't hesitate before accepting the next job. It meant saying goodbye to all the guys he knew, but the way this kind of day labor thing worked, he'd probably end up back in their company again sooner or later. The guys on the worksite invited him to have a beer again, and Dax found that it actually hurt to turn them down. But Jak was waiting.

Jak would have probably preferred him to take the couple days off.

But no, it was better to go straight on to the next job. Work was good. Work made him strong, and it made him money, and it bought him self-esteem. When he was at work he was too busy to think about all the shittier parts of his life. Like the fact that his girlfriend and his best buddy were still mad at him for not being the cute furry creature they'd fallen in love with.

Dax shuddered on the walk back to realize that he was actually somewhat dreading going home to Jak. He stopped in his tracks, briefly tuning out the whooshing of late afternoon traffic over his head.

"The thing is," he said to a random pigeon sitting on a twist of rebar. "I miss what we had. It was scary, but it was also fun, and I really felt like I was doing some good most of the time. But I don't want to go back to it. I just feel so goddamn selfish for wanting to do something different." Dax reached into his pocket for some crumbs left over from lunch. He tossed them to the ground beneath the fat pigeon, who fluttered its wings for a moment before lazily hopping down to check it out.

"Dax!"

Daxter turned around and saw Ashelin strolling down the street, in a tight shirt and cammos and enough self-confidence in her swagger to run the city. Since her break up with Jak, she'd been rather scarce, but her name and influence were still plenty strong, and as always she seemed in on everything going down. Still, it took Daxter aback that she actually recognized him. Last time she'd seen him he'd been considerably smaller and a whole hell of a lot more important to her plans.

He painted a smile on his face. "Hey there, gorgeous!" he catcalled out of respect.

Ashelin shook her head and waved off the come on. Which was just as well because Dax wasn't any more interested in her than she was in him. On top of wearing her auburn hair in dreads, which was a style Dax wasn't too fond of, she also had the same bad-ass facial tattooing as Torn, which as far as Dax was concerned was a dating deal breaker. Tattoos on the arms, legs, torso – fine. Scrawling special Precursor symbols across your face in lines an inch thick? U-gly. And painful, too. Makers only knew the agony Ashelin must have gone through to ruin her good looks as thoroughly as she had. One more reason for Dax to stay faaaar away from kooky religions.

"Wasn't sure it was you, but I heard your voice talking to the wildlife and figured 'that's Daxter.'" She smiled with just a trace of condescension. Ah yes, typical Ashelin.

"Yeah well, it's a talent," said Dax. "Speaking critterese is a useful skill. This guy was telling me where all the good seed spots in Haven are." The pigeon obligingly cooed.

Ashelin's brow raised just for a second before she realized he was pulling her leg, then she rolled her eyes.

"So…" said Dax a bit awkwardly. "What's happening on the dune raider front?" Torn had Ashelin and her team hunting down pirates in the desert, trying to get regular trade route between the various city-states open up for the first time in more than half a decade. Important work, far more appreciated by the general populace than anything he and Jak did, and something of a bone of contention between her and Dax. Jak didn't mind the anonymity of metalhead hunting, but Dax had to admit to a bit of jealousy that Ashelin managed to get herself a job that not only made her more fame and money but was a hell of a lot easier. The few times he and Jak had pinch hit for Ashelin were most fun the two ever had on a mission. Sailing over the dunes on a bouncy buggy, chasing down bad guys and running them to ground. Whole lot better than dangling by your claws over a pool of noxious ooze.

Ashelin stiffened a bit. "I've been pulled, or hasn't Jak told you?"

"What?" Dax stared at her tattooed face with puzzlement.

"Torn partnered me with Jak again, I'm just on my way to your place to talk to him about tomorrows mission." She began walking down the narrow street towards Jak and Dax's apartment. Dax fell into step with her.

"So… what? You're my replacement?"

Ashelin lifted her eyebrows, "That's right. At least until you come back to us. What is it you are doing these days? Sewer work?"

Dax wondered if that were some sort of subtle put down. "Roofing."

"Roofing," she repeated. "I knew it had something to do with construction. I don't really understand why you are doing such stupid grunt work, you never struck me as being a coward before."

Dax bristled. "I am not scared." _Not that I'll admit to her_. He pulled himself to his tallest, which still was quite a bit shorter than Ashelin but he was not going to notice that any more than he was going to notice the scorn in her voice.

"Well then stop shirking and get back on the job. Jak needs you."

"Jak don't need no one, babe. Jak is a force unto himself."

Ashelin sighed and looked put out. "It's not that I don't enjoy Jak's company, but I really have better things to be doing. -- And I see this is just going over your head. You really don't get it."

"What don't I get?" Dax growled. "I think I get perfectly that Jak wants me back on the job, and I told him my reasons why I'm not doing it. It's temporary. I told that to him, and now I'm saying it to you. So what, now he has you pressuring me? Putting the old guilt trip on? Sheesh, couldn't he at least get Torn?"

"Jak did _not_ put me up to this," said Ashelin angrily. "I put myself up to it because I care about Jak. In fact, Jak told both me and Torn to lay off of you. You want to know why? Because he loves you and he doesn't want to pressure you to do what you _need_ to do. What you don't get is just how much he cares about you, how much he's willing to sacrifice for your whims."

Dax stopped in his tracks and waved his hands in front of his face. "Now wait a minute, sister. If you can unplug the pressure cooker for two seconds and step out into the sunshine, I think you and I need to have a talk."

"I thought that's what we were doing."

"No you are haranguing me. Care to hear my side?"

Ashelin put her hands on her hips. "Well."

"I'm sorry if my decision is temporarily inconveniencing you, but I'm doing it for Jak's benefit as much as mine." Ashelin looked highly doubtful. "Look at me," ordered Dax. "Look really hard, what do you see?" This was really painful. The last thing Dax wanted to do was to prove his inadequacy to Ashelin, but damn it, he was strong enough to be a realist even if no one else on Torn's crazy crew were.

Ashelin's eyes flickered to the side then settled on Dax. She made a slow deliberate pass up and down his body. "I see a short Elf, with big teeth and scrawny legs."

"Exactly, I'm an Elf. Not an ottsel. I can't do what I used to do. It's not that I don't want to do the mission, I physically _can't_. I can't sit on his shoulder. I can't fit into the little crawl spaces where he can't go. I can't reach into the cracks. Give me a few months, I'll shoot a gun or drive a car with the best of them, but I will never be able to fill the role I used to. No one can. I'm in the process of remaking myself into something Jak can use and I'm going as fast as I can. But right now, if I went down into those Precursor pits, I'd just be a huge distraction to Jak."

Ashelin's expression softened. "It's not that I don't agree with you. I can think of a dozen of my men who I'd trust with the job ahead of you."

_Oh well, thanks for the vote of confidence, Ashelin._

"—But I'm not the one deciding these things, Jak is. It doesn't matter who goes out on the job with Jak, he's going to do the hard work. What he needs isn't any physical help, he needs emotional reassurance. Company. As far as I'm concerned anyone can fill that bill, but Jak wants you. And without you, he's getting distracted and sloppy, and he's endangering his own life. We can't afford to lose him and I hope you don't want to either. After all the years he dedicated to getting you that body back, the least you could do would be to try and help him out."

Ouch, ouch, ouch! That hit home _hard_.

"Tell me," said Ashelin. "Did the two of you get into some fight? Isn't there some way you can kiss and make up?"

"No!" said Daxter. "Like I said, there's nothing wrong, except that I'm not ready. I can't get ready any faster. Listen I already promised Jak, and I'm promising you that I'll do the stinking job. I'll do it. Just back off. Give me a couple of weeks." _I don't want to go down into Precursor ruins, but now I really am committed, oh thank you Ashelin._ Daxter felt a sudden flush of fury. "I mean, can't Torn just put Jak in the desert with you for a few weeks? Last I checked there was no deadline to find Precursor tech."

"The metal heads."

"Can be killed by anyone once they reach the surface. I remember you used to do that job once upon a time."

"I know full well what I can do." Ashelin waved him away and walked ahead. "Never mind, Dax. Far be it from me to try and change your pig headed mind on anything. You are right on one thing, Jak doesn't need you as much as he thinks he does. I can get the job done. You do whatever the hell you want to."

"Well, screw you, too, Ashelin," Dax shouted. He then turned on his heel and headed back to where the guys from the worksite were getting their beer. Dax already knew that Jak didn't need him to do his job. Jak certainly didn't need Dax to be hovering around while he and Ashelin discussed what they were doing. What they both wanted Dax to be doing.

And Dax certainly didn't need that hassle. No, he didn't need it at all.

* * *

It was late, too late, past midnight with work to do in the morning and Daxter could barely keep his feet with all the alcohol swirling in his blood. Rain started coming down in a fine mist about five blocks from home, cooling him down, sobering him up. He knew he was in the wrong. He'd really screwed up this time, green eco did dickall for hangovers and he was going to feel this in the morning, but that wasn't even touching on the consequences for the night's drunken irresponsibility.

Ashelin had been in the wrong. She didn't understand the situation half as well as she thought she did, and she had absolutely no right to imply Dax was a selfish idiot who didn't care about Jak.

But then Dax had gone and proved her right. Jak got worried when Dax came late from the work site, he would have gone nuts not knowing where he'd been for the last six hours. But it had felt sooooo good. For a few hours there, when the mad was still burning his chest, he'd felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He'd fought the urge to pick a direction and just _go_. Just walk out into the desert and leave all this responsibility behind.

But his work mates had one by one left the bar, and the last one clasped his shoulder and told him not to get so drunk he fell off the beam like the last apprentice did. For some reason that had brought him back down to reality again. Being drunk didn't feel fun anymore.

He turned into the narrow alley that lead up to the apartment, and sure enough, there on the steps, his hands cupping his chin, was Jak.

"I'm sorry, Dax," said Jak, his voice so soft that it could barely be heard over the rain. "Ashelin won't pressure you again."

_Man, what an asshole I am_, Dax thought.

* * *

Here's a joke: Loser cries out to the Makers, "What can I do to be a real man, and show I'm responsible and worthy to the world?" And the makers reply, "Give up your autonomy and go back to being a pet."

* * *

A/N: Sooooo last chapter was a bit rushed. I'm not sure what I can do to improve it without adding filler. It was a big day full of lots of changes each propelling the next in a kind of a domino effect. Hopefully this chapter seems a bit more restful.

Everything will eventually resolve, but in the mean time things are a bit uncomfortable for our duo.


	5. Chapter 5: Trapped

**Chapter 5: Trapped**

* * *

Daxter dreamed that he was back in the Precursor pits, sitting on Jak's shoulder while they traversed one of the ubiquitous crumbling corridors. He felt strangely comforted by the place, as though deep in his belly he recognized where he belonged. This was his place. Home. He dug his claws into Jack's vest with familiarity, and buried his muzzle in Jak's hair, while Jak petted his fur. Jak was warm and his smell was pleasant and complex. Oh man, he missed this. He missed it so badly. It felt so good.

They reached a section where the floor gave out, but Dax felt no fear. He watched Jak transform with half an eye, not willing to remove his nose from the crook of Jak's neck. As Jak grew transparent, Dax could see the ruin through his body. He felt more than saw the wings appear on Jak's back. One, two, three strides and Jak leaped out over the precipice. They were flying. Flying. Together out into nothing.

The dream soured slowly with every flap of Jak's wings. Dax realized they should have reached some kind of ground by now, and with every wingbeat they dropped lower. Dax began to doubt Jak's ability fly his way out again. Panic seeded itself in his middle, and he tightened his claws on Jak's vest.

"Jak," whispered Dax. "Where are we going?"

But it was Light, not Jak, that replied in a oddly lilting whisper that sent shivers down Dax's spine. "Into the oubliette where no one will ever find us. Where we can be together always."

* * *

.  
Dax felt a knife pang of terror and longed to run but he was already trapped. His world narrowed down to the space of Jak's shoulder. Horrified, he grieved for their apartment, for Haven city and all his friends, Tess, his work, his life, his choices, but it was too late. They'd flown too far and there was nothing left but Jak and a dark Precursor prison. Forever.

Daxter woke with a gasp and felt something wrong immediately. His skin tingled, and when he opened his eyes he could see a low blue light eddying around the room. He rolled over quickly and looked for Jak, but Jak was gone.

In his place, Light sat up in the bed staring back at him with glowing white eyes.

"Jak," Daxter's voice creaked. He coughed and tried again. "Light, why are you here?"

"I'm worried." Light's voice sounded eerie and unreal as always, as though he was speaking through a long metal tube.

"Are we in danger now, Light? Do I need to get the guns?" Daxter automatically sniffed the air for metalheads, then realized the futility of it. The old nose didn't work like it used to –- one more reason he'd be useless down in the ruins. His ears heard nothing but the ordinary pops and clangs of city life, and though he looked around the dimly lit room, there was nothing out of the ordinary but Light.

Light was freaky enough on his own. Deeply disturbing, in fact, because the dude didn't just casually come up (and a hearty thank the Makers for that) he had to be triggered in some way—danger, need, worry, eco, something. Was Jak really in such a state that his _sleep_ would bring on of his alter-egos? That would be bad.

"You are safe," the hollow voice replied with little reassurance. It was hard to read Light's expression – the planes of his face were obscured by both his translucency and his aura, but Daxter thought he saw sadness.

"Light," said Daxter. "What do you need? I'm here for you, buddy. You just need a cuddle or something?" Dark sometimes needed a cuddle to soothe him back to sleep after a good hard fight. And that reminded Dax that things could always be worse. He gave a shudder of thanks that he hadn't woken up with an upset Dark in bed with him. Now that would be nightmare inducing.

Apparently a cuddle was exactly what Light was looking for, because the persona leaned forward and petted Dax's face and hair.

_I get it,_ thought Dax, wryly. _Time to do the cute furry thing_. Awkwardly, he attempted imitate the pet he used to be, snuggling up to Light and gently butting his head under Light's chin. It used to be so easy, so natural, but now it just felt silly. He was a grown man, for crying out loud; it wasn't even cute. Nonetheless, Light seemed to like it, and really that's what counted. The persona stroked Dax's hair, then his arms wrapped around Dax, stilling him, holding him to his cool, unearthly chest with firm pressure. Dax smelled lightning and fresh grass and wet spring mornings.

"Did you miss me that much?" Dax asked. It seemed an absurd thought, but come to think of it, Dax hadn't seen Light or Dark since the change. Before that he saw them both on nearly a daily basis, in the regular course of adventuring. And thinking that way, it made sense.

"You went away," murmured Light. "You didn't come back. We worry you won't come back."

Dax felt his heart break. "Oh, Light, I'm not abandoning you. I've been here all this time. Right here, I promise. I'm not going anywhere. Jak knows, I'll be back on the job soon. I promised." Dax closed his eyes tightly and held this cool godly monster that was his best friend, and tried not to mourn his dreams. He didn't want to go back to those pits, but there was no getting away from the Precursors. There was no point in trying.

Dax broke the embrace long enough to see Light smiling down on him benevolently. "Sleep," Light ordered in the nicest of ways.

_Oh thank you, lordship, can I really now?_ thought Daxter caustically, but he kept it off his face. Then he oofed out a breath as Light suddenly gathered him up and lowered him to bed as if he weighed no more than the ottsel he used to be. Daxter didn't fight it. The mattress did feel awfully good. And warm.

"You, too, Light," said Dax, lying on his back. "Let Jak back. He needs his rest."

"Yes." Light cuddled up to his side. Not quite what Dax meant, but he wasn't going to argue with it. He could sense that Light was willing to relinquish Jak's body again, and anything to speed the cause along was fine with Dax. He reached a hand over and stroked Light's hair. It felt soft and ghostly.

_Oh, Jak, what are we going to do with our crazy, fucked up, co-dependant lives?_

The blue light faded from the room, and Dax felt the warmth of Jak's body nestled against him. Jaks' breath blew slow and gentle across chest in a sleeping rhythm, and Dax the weight of his head against his shoulder. The pressure of the embrace eased, until it was nothing more than the loose weight of Jak's arm across his waist. Jak hadn't woken up.

Jak wouldn't remember this. He never did when one of his personas took over. Not unless Dax told him. The whole thing was like a conversation behind Jak's back, even though it was his body, his voice carrying on. And there was something just so wrong about that. If the shoe were on the other foot, Dax knew he'd be scared to death knowing that at any time, day or night, some other consciousness could take him over and do who knows what with his body and his life.

Suddenly, Dax felt like an incredibly shlub. For all his internal whining, Dax _could_ have a normal job, normal relationships, his fate was his own to grab. That he _hadn't_ was just his own damn laziness and lack of imagination.

Jak would never have a normal anything. Ever. And he hadn't done one damn thing to deserve it. He had been born with a mess of low level psychic powers that under almost any other circumstance would have landed him a cushy, predictable spot in the priesthood. But the Lurker war left Jak without much supervision, which lead to exploring those Precursor ruins, which lead to Dax being turned into an ottsel, which lead to exploring more precursor ruins to get his body back… and on and on through ever less likely chain of events that had come to a huge, hideous end with Jak's abduction.

Makers only knew what went on during the two years Jak was held by Baron Praxis' scientists. Experiments for sure. There had been a huge amount of nasty looking machinery in the building Dax had found Jak. Lots of straps and needles. Barred cages. Bodies. The only thing Dax ever got out of Jak about the ordeal was broody far away stares. That and Dark, and later Light.

Dax supposed, all things told, having Dark and Light wasn't too bad. His buddy could have become a veritable rainbow of Jaks, and who knew what kind of personality or talents "Blue" Jak would have. And most of the time, it was just ordinary Jak – a little older and a lot more world-weary than the dude Dax grew up with, but still the same basic nice guy.

Dax rubbed his face. _It's all so complicated._

Next to him Jaks breath hitched and snuffled for a moment before settling back down. Dax lay still.

He should go by Tess and Mitch's and train himself up on guns, because one way or another he was going back into those damn pits and he better know how to defend himself when he did. Vacation was coming to an end. It was time to get to work.

_Goodbye, safe and sane lifestyle. I hardly knew you. _

* * *

.

Dax asked the question as soon as he got home the next day. "Hey, Jak, if you aren't too tired from your day or nothing, d'ya think you could come down to the range with me and teach me how to shoot?"

He knew it was the right decision the moment the words were out of his mouth, because for the first time in _weeks_ Jak smiled. More than smiled, he got down right _chatty_, which for Jak was _amazing_.

"We'll start with the basics," said Jak pulling a rifle from the gun rack that filled the apartment's tiny closet. "Oh yeah, and we definitely want you up to speed with one of these," Jak tossed a handgun at Dax, who caught it before it sunk in what it was. He almost had the urge to drop the gun again. Damn it, Jak kept these things loaded and, what with his firm belief in his own invincibility, sometimes he left the safety _off_. Dax quickly fumbled to make sure the weapon was safe, then put it into Jak's backspack.

"I think a hand gun is more your speed anyway," Jak went on oblivious of Dax's skeptical look. "What do you think about grenades?"

"Grenades?" repeated Dax. "I think they are… boomy."

"Boomy," Jak nodded. "They're a synch. Just pull and toss hard in the right direction. Don't need to be too accurate. Good when you've got a pack of metalheads coming down on you and you don't have time to shoot them all before they start gnawing at your guts. Don't use them in the corridors though. Could take the ceiling down."

"Yeah, I kind of remember that, Jak," said Dax wryly. "In fact, I kind of remember reminding _you_ of that a couple of times."

Jak's eyes narrowed and he suddenly turned and squared himself to Dax. Dax looked up questioningly into his eyes, wondering if his last remark had caused some kind of offense. As if to confirm his fear, both of Jak's hands come down hard on his shoulders and suddenly _shook_ him. Dax rocked, then dug in his heels with a "Hey!"

Jak nodded as if this told him something important. "You'll probably do better with smaller caliber. Less kick." Jak returned to the gun cabinet and removed two more handguns. "This is going to be great."

Dax felt a guilty squirm in his gut. "Yeah, great. Gee, Jak, I hope you don't have high hopes for me, because, I'm not exactly a gun person. I could really suck."

"You've guided missiles." Jak stuffed several boxes of ammunition into the sack.

Heh, heh, yeah, time was when Torn could convince Dax to do anything. Crazy wars. Dax smiled at the memory. "Pshaw, but that's a totally different skill. And we all know my accuracy with that one."

"You got the target."

_"Eventually_, yes, after putting four of them into the lake first."

"The last one was all that counted." Jack went on his toes to retrieve a package of green eco balls, which he carefully stuffed into the side pouches.

"And a good thing it did because that's all the missiles we had."

Jak grabbed his shoulder again, this time with a gentle squeeze. "You'll do fine, you always do." He slung the heavy bag of guns and ammo over his shoulder, lifting it like it was nothing.

Dax felt a pang of inadequacy. "Hey, Jak, I can carry my share, let me get another bag."

But Jak just called out, "I got it," and walked out the door, leaving Dax empty handed and with a feeling like once again Jak was carrying him.

Dax scratched at his clothes out of irritation. He had a terrifying urge to put his thumb into his mouth and soothe away his nerves, and damn, he thought he'd laid that bad habit to rest. With all the other lapses, he was _not_ going to concede on that one. So instead he straightened his collar, spit tamed an errant lock of hair, and followed Jak down to the little fenced off nook under the stairs where Jak stowed the zoomer.

Now came the real test of Dax's resolve: Off to Tess and Mitch's indoor firing range – and the inevitable awkward reconciliation attempt.

It had been more than a month since the last time he'd seen Tess. He hadn't had any reason to go with Jak to buy ammo, and Tess hadn't come by the Naughty Ottsel. As horrible as it was, Dax was actually relieved that she'd avoided him. What with everything else going on the last thing he needed was another reminder of what a failure in life he was. As long as he avoided Tess, he could pretend that their last encounter was a fluke, that there was some way to save their relationship, and as soon as Dax just came up with the right words, the right argument, it would all fall together.

Yeah maybe. Sounds good. Still in all the weeks since that horrible afternoon, he hadn't think been able to think of any better reasons for her to give up Precursorhood than those he'd already given: I love you. Life will be easier if you just let Jak turn you. Oh my god, are you nuts woman? Why would you want to stay an animal when you can be a hot babe? Those didn't go over then. They wouldn't now.

Maybe there was another solution. If Dax couldn't get her to change back into an elf, maybe he could convince Tess to sleep on Jak's chest – go with him on his missions. After all she could do all the things Dax no longer could. She was still cute and small and cuddly. And she was certainly brave enough. And she loved precursor stuff…

And oh yeah, that would fly – like a brick.

Jak didn't want Tess on his chest. He'd made that oh so amply clear during those painful months they'd all lived together. She'd have never moved out if she and Jak were a better fit.

What drove Dax nuts is that he couldn't figure out _why_ they didn't fit. They were certainly friendly enough. They both loved guns. They both were fascinated by the Precursors. She was easy going, Jak was accepting. By all fucking rights they should have been best friends, but they weren't. It was such a subtle thing, too. You couldn't tell it from a casual glance, because sometimes they got on famously. But inevitably Jak would go one way and Tess another. And Dax would be there in the middle wondering which one to follow.

Jak looked over his shoulder at Dax as he started the engine, huge smile on his face. Happy to have his bud share his favorite hobby. Shooting shit up. Yea.

Dax slung his leg over the narrow seat of the zoomer, tucked his feet up on the runner boards and grabbed Jak's waist. He felt a slight thrill, when the zoomer leaped up fifteen feet in the air and zipped in and out of late afternoon traffic. Jak drove like he was the only one in the sky: twice as fast as he should, cutting tight corners with hard jerks, and swooping down to use the pedestrian space as a bypass lane. Dax once cautioned him about being a menace on the road but he'd long since given up that lost cause. Jak never _hit_ anything or anyone, despite the constant close calls, and apparently he was convinced that laws didn't apply to him.

Actually, laws _didn't_ apply to Jak. That was kinda the reason why the city treated him with kid gloves and all.

The view was crap. Dax was too short to see over Jak's shoulder, and had to content himself with pressing his cheek into Jak's back and watching a blur of buildings racing by to his side. And that's why they were fifteen minutes into the ride before Dax realized he had no idea where the hell they were going but it wasn't to Tess's.

"Hey aren't we going to the firing range?"

Dax thought he felt Jak stiffen, but then the whole zoomer shuddered, fell to pedestrian level, and whipped under the belly of a slow moving car. When he got back up to normal traffic height Jak risked both their lives by turning his head to look at Dax. "Thought you'd have more fun going free range."

At that point, Dax recognized the part of town they were in. One whiff of the air gave it away. All the stinkiest parts of the city came together in one lonely corner: The paper mill, the dye vats, the garbage incinerators, and as the _piece de la resistance,_ the sewage processors. Jak slowed down and lowered the zoomer next to the enormous wall that circled Haven City. They were near the swamp – Lurker territory.

Well not actually Lurker territory. More like Lurker Metalheads. The Lurkers were just as curious as Elves when it came to Precursor junk, and just as likely as rats to touch those evil orbs. Once gotten, they inevitably followed their noses and got as close to Elvish establishments as they could. They'd set up something of permanent camp in the swamps. Every so often the Crimson Guard would come out and take pot shots at those they could find, thinning down the herd, but a week or two later there'd be another group setting up camp again, lured in by the heady stench of Elven waste.

Lurkers might be dumb compared to your average elf, but they were still sentient creatures. They used weapons. They could _strategize._

"Jak," said Dax, not bothering to hide the fear in his voice. "Can't we start a bit simpler than hunting _Lurkers?_ Maybe tin cans on a stump or something?"

Jak rolled his eyes, as though Dax was being entirely unreasonable in his fears. Then, ignoring Dax's continued objections, he confidently pressed his hand against the access panel to open a way out of the city. The machine read his palm, recognized who he was, and granted permission to leave. With a deep hollow boom, the enormous wheel of metal that comprised the inner door rolled into the recesses of the city wall. Jak and Dax stepped into the shallow room on the other side and waited for the wheel to roll back into place. A moment later the back of the room clanged, and a second disk of metal rolled back, revealing an expanse of coarse shrubs and long grass.

The sun was low in the sky, but Jak walked on ahead with confidence, Dax following his footsteps as exactly as he could to keep from accidentally stepping in a knee high pool of stagnant water. The air was thick with buzzes and glops, clicks and braps. Swarms of iridescent dragonflies took off around them as they passed, and small brightly colored wildflowers bloomed everywhere.

Actually, the swamp was kind of peaceful and pretty.

Jak came to an abrupt halt about a hundred feet out into the bog and pulled the empty shell of an ammo pack out of mud. He looked around for a moment then took a couple of paces to the side and propped the bit of garbage on a rock.

"Tin can." He crossed his arms and looked smug.

Dax laughed. "Good enough, buddy. Good enough."

* * *

.

Turns out, shooting shit up was a hell of a lot of fun, and they didn't see a single metalhead the entire time they were out there. Go figure.

* * *

.

Almost as if the guys at work sensed things were more peaceful at home, they began to ratchet the pressure on Dax. At first it was just little jibes and digs, all in good humor. Nothing that Dax couldn't take, and hell, he gave the verbal cracks back in equal measure. Dax knew he was short and skinny compared to the average construction worker -- it didn't really bother him. He also knew he was a lot more dexterous, his upper body strength belied his size, and he wasn't reluctant to put either to the test. A couple of the bigger guys seemed to think it funny to try wrestle him, but their balance was terrible and Dax took them down with embarrassing ease. He had to do it three times before his mates admitted it wasn't a fluke, but after that his esteem went up heaps.

He was popular, now. Which was awesome. But that in turn created it's own problem. When Dax was the new guy, no one really cared one way or another if he joined them at the bar. Now that he'd passed their test, and they'd accepted him as a comrade, they weren't taking "Thanks, but no thanks" nearly as well.

"I really would," said Dax regretfully. "But my girl's waiting for me."

"Bring her along," one of the guys suggested, which was followed by agreement and general curiosity about Dax's girl.

"She's… er… shy," said Dax uncomfortably. "Really, I'll ask. If she says yes, I'll be there." Oh, the lies, the lies.

This put the guys off for a couple of days, but by the end of the week they started putting on the screws.

"Don't we meet her standards?" Stanford asked. "Is she some kinda snob or something?"

"Of course not," sputtered Dax, waving his hands in denial. "My girl's just --"

"There's no girl," said Arne with cretinous certainty.

Dax flushed. "I do so have a girl!"

"I won't believe it until she shows up."

Before Dax could respond the rest of the guys leapt on the idea. "Put up! Put up!"

Dax waved them off and walked away, but he couldn't ignore the pressure. The guys weren't going to let this go until he produced a "girl."

The obvious answer was to take Tess, since after all, hey, she _was_ his girl. But she was also an ottsel, and honestly, Dax wasn't sure he could pull off the interspecies romance thing as well as Tess did. Gender expectations weren't equal. A hot girl lavishing affection on a cute critter was kind of adorable. A funny looking dude calling a small animal his "girlfriend" was just _sick_.

No. Not possible. Even if Tess was still on speaking terms with him, Dax was sure his mates wouldn't be able to deal. So… that left… who?

Ashelin? Neck down, she was pretty hot and everyone knew she was important. Both were big pluses. And there was a good chance it stop the questions about his not joining them for a beer, because, whoo, Ashelin could whip the lot of these oafs with a glance.

On the negative side, he'd have to spend an evening being nice to Ashelin, and after their last encounter, Dax wasn't really sure he could do that. Plus there was no way in hell she'd actually agree to be his date. _And that puts the kibosh on that._

There was always Keira. Except nah, that wouldn't work, either. Back when Dax had a crush on her, he'd taken every opportunity he could to proposition her. She in turn made it clear she was _never_ going to date him. Ever. Even-if-he-was-the-last-man-on-the-planet kind of ever. There was no reason to think that a few years was going to make a difference in that, especially since she more or less blamed Dax for her break up with Jak.

What he wouldn't give for a bit of Jak's sexual mojo: to just be able to smile at a girl and have her swoon. Maybe if he asked… but, no, that was silly. Jak wasn't going to scrounge him a date so Dax could ditch him to hang with his work buds. And Dax wasn't going to insult his best friend by asking.

Dax sighed. At this rate he was going to alienate and annoy everyone he'd ever had anything to do with. Way to go Loser. Way to go.

_Nevermind, I'll think of something. And I'll think of someway to get Tess back, and make Jak happy and please myself too. There's a solution to everything out there, if I just put my mind to it. It will all come to me tomorrow._

* * *

.

It didn't.

It still hadn't come to him four days later, and the guys were beginning to get on Dax's nerves. Somehow, someway, every conversation with his mates turned into a fishing expeditions for clues about his "girlfriend," what exactly Dax was doing with her _every day_ after work, and why neither of them could sit down just _once_ for a beer in the afternoon with Dax's good buddies. There had to be a really good reason. And by good reason, they apparently assumed raunchy wild sex.

"Ever done that to your girl, Dax?" Arne asked after describing a rather unsanitary act involving tongues and body parts Dax would rather not think about.

"None of your business," said Dax, which had turned into his standard answer for anything to do with sex. It was better than faking first hand knowledge he didn't have, or admitting the truth, which was that, smart mouth aside, he was as virginal as they came. "And cut it out, it's lunchtime. You are putting me off my food."

There was a bit of a hubbub on the other end of the site. Dax thought he heard his own name carrying over the general din, so he stood up, peering over the pile of wood and cinderblock to see what was up.

The Foreman was talking to a smartly dressed man with dark auburn dreads and a huge precursor symbol tattooed over his face. _What the hell. Why is_ Torn _here_.

Dax scrambled past the various workplace detritus to stem the damage before Torn let too much of his past out of the bag. "Hey!" he called out. "What's up. You need me?"

Torn met his eyes and nodded. "There you are, Daxter."

The guys on the site weren't that interested in politics. Leaders came, made a lot of empty promises, then they disappeared again. Meanwhile, work was steady and everyone got by, more or less. Even so, they'd all recognize the bloody _defense minister._ Having a high ranking official seeking Dax out just invited speculation. And indeed all eyes were on him. No matter what, Dax was going to be fielding a lot of awkward questions after this. Best to find out what Torn wanted and get him the hell off the site as fast as possible.

Torn let Dax take his sleeve and guide him a few feet away across the narrow street to a small space where two buildings met at an odd angle. It wasn't much but at least they were out of casual earshot.

"Why are you here?" asked Dax a lot more churlishly than he intended.

Torn curled up a corner of his mouth. "Why so suspicious? I could just be paying you a friendly visit."

"You? Casually visiting me?" Dax raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh be real, you are way too busy keeping the city safe for that. What's so urgent you have to look me up at work. Is something up with Jak I don't know about?" Dax's heart suddenly hammered. He hoped that wasn't it.

It was. "Jak made it clear he doesn't want me pressuring you, but you really are the only one who can help him. I know you aren't ready to come back to the job --"

Oh god. Not this again. "--And I told Ashelin this was a temporary gig," Dax interrupted. "Listen, Jak is training me on weapons right now. Couple more weeks and I'll quit and be back on the job, if you guys are that desperate to have me. Though, honestly, I still don't get why you all think Jak needs me that much. The dude is a powerhouse, with or without me."

Torn's half smile faded. "You haven't watched him work. I don't think you understand how depressed he is. I took him off of metalhead hunting today. He's out patrolling for raiders in the desert with Ashelin."

Dax sighed. "Well, okay. Good temporary solution. A break from Precursor death traps is probably just what he needs. So, what do you need to bug me at work for?"

"Actually, what I came to see you about is something more… personal in nature." Torn looked a bit uncomfortable and Dax thought he saw just the faintest sign of redness in the little bit of untattooed skin left on his cheeks.

"Oh?"

"I'm thinking that Jak could use a bit of tension relief."

"You mean something other than shooting the crap out of things with me."

"Yeah."

"Like, what? You think he needs to get laid?"

Dax was being smart, but to his surprise, Torn nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

It actually was a thought. Jak's sex life had taken a nosedive after Dax's change. Sharing a small apartment with Dax sure wasn't helping. Of course, Dax had always shared an apartment with Jak, but the dynamic was a lot different when he was an ottsel. Back then, his presence didn't _count_. But now days if Jak wanted to bring home a girl, there really wasn't anywhere for Dax to be. Awk-ward.

"Yeah," said Dax, sighing. "Okay, I think I see the problem. Crap. Well, tell you what, I'll let him know that any time he's got a date, I'll make myself scarce. No problemo. I can find a place to hole up for the night –" _I have no idea where, but I'll figure out something_ "—he just needs give the word."

Torn looked a bit exasperated. "I don't think that's the problem." Torn stared down at Dax with an intensity that made him squirm. "Actually, I was hoping you'd be willing to take a more active roll in the matter. For the good of your friend. For the good of everyone."

Dax raised an eyebrow. "You want _me_ to find Jak a date? _Me?_. I can't even find myself a date, what makes you think I'd be able to set him up?"

Torn pinched the bridge of his nose. "You aren't going to make this easy on me, are you."

"I have no clue what you're getting at, Torn. Really, I don't."

"I'm talking about _you_ taking an active role." Torn sucked in a breath and straightened up.

"Me? And Jak?" Dax's mouth dropped, and he pressed a hand to his chest. "Oh no, man, no! I don't know where you got that idea, but we aren't like that."

"I know you aren't like that. That's the problem. But Jak is never going to make the first move. It's got to be you."

"Why me? I mean, why would you even think me? I've got too little up here," Dax pointed at his chest, "And waaaay too much going on down here." He pointed to his groin. "You'd think if Jak was into dating guys, he'd date guys."

"Well, if you offer and he turns it down, then we'll know that's not what he wants. But if it turns out it is what he wants, then it could make a big difference on his readiness, and I can put him back on metalhead duty where he belongs."

Torn's words settled in Dax's mind and he finally realized that Torn was being _earnest_. Dax's face burned. He opened his mouth, but words just didn't form. The sheer _audacity!_

"Well?" prodded Torn after a moment, all trace of embarrassment gone. He looked for all the world like he was giving Dax another routine assignment.

"Makers, Torn, this is crazy," Dax hissed to keep himself from shouting. "You want me to give my best bud a pity fuck – so you can throw him back in the Precursor mines faster? Am I getting this right?"

"It doesn't have to be penetration. A hand job would do fine, I think."

"I -- No!" Dax's eyes bugged out. "No. Go order Ashelin to do it. She's the one who works for you."

"Ashelin already offered. He turned her down."

"Well then maybe Jak's not in the mood to get laid. And, man, I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you." Dax smacked his face.

"I have a discretionary budget. If it would smooth matters down, I could pay you whatever sum you think right –"

"_What?!_ You want to _pay_ me for sex?!" Dax recoiled. "Oh man, who the fuck – I am _not_ a whore! And I don't give out pity fucks, either!" His voice echoed off the concrete walls.

Dax froze as he realized just what he'd done. _Oh… shit._ Torn didn't move but his eyes slid sideways towards the deathly silent worksite. Dax didn't dare follow his gaze.

"I was really loud there, wasn't I," said Dax flatly.

"Yep." Torn nodded, cool and composed as ever.

"You think they heard me?"

"I think the whole block did."

Dax covered his face. "Great."

"At least they know you have high standards," Torn offered up, sympathetically. He had the gall to grin.

"Torn… Argh. Just get the hell out of here. I'll talk to you later." Dax turned his back and walked back to the site.

There wasn't a peep of conversation going on, and everyone watched as he went to his pack and pulled out his lunch. He could see the "oh, so that's how it is" look on their faces. There was no point in disabusing them – the real explanation for the conversation would be more humiliating than a simple gay lovers spat.

"Hey!" Dax suddenly yelled. "Don't you got better things to do than stare at me?" And things went back to normal.

That afternoon, when the whistle had blown and the daily wages handed out, Stanford came up to Dax. "Hey, man. You can bring your boyfriend to the bar. It's cool."

"Thanks," said Dax, feeling completely spent. "I still don't think it would work, but thanks."

Well, at least the girlfriend problem was resolved.


	6. Chapter 6: Point of No Return

* * *

**Chapter 6: Point of no return.**

* * *

Dax splashed out ahead of Jak, keeping to the low cover of scrub. He could hear the distinctive hoots of Lurkers farther ahead. Past the reeds and the water lay an island of dry land where the satellite waste facility was located. The Lurkers loved to hang out around the outflow pipes. Ew. Nasty critters.

He saw a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, and noticed Jak setting up a defensive stance behind a rock about twenty paces away. They met eyes and Jak made a meaningful gesture with his hand that Dax aught to have remembered but didn't. It was just on the tip of his tongue, so close he could almost feel it, but just not quite there. Dax frowned in frustration. They'd practiced this several times already, he shouldn't be blanking out.

Jak made the gesture again.

Sacrificing dignity for practicality, Dax mouthed, _What?_ He repeated the gesture and then gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

Jak rolled his eyes, then used both hands to pantomime something incomprehensible and complex that apparently involved both of them doing different things. Oh yeah, that helped heaps.

There was another howl, with a warble and grunt at the end. If Dax spoke Lurker, he was sure it would have meant something to him. Maybe it was "there are two stupid elves hiding out in the mud. Let's all gang up on them while they get their act straight."

Jak changed his gesture to an impatient wave, _Come here_.

Dax nodded and bent over double, leaping from one peaty little island of reeds and scum to the next, trying to avoid the places where the water actually showed some current. Clouds of insects erupted from the grass with every step. It was a wonder that the Lurker's hadn't already caught on to their presence. He crouched behind Jak, "Sorry, I guess I don't have all these signs down yet. What was that again?"

"I'm going out straight to draw them out, you come in from the side. As soon as they break cover to attack me, you shoot them. I'll fall back two paces and open fire as well. You get into position first, then I'll go. Try not to shoot me."

"Ah yeah, yeah. Flank attack. Gotcha." Dax scrambled back to his original position, peeked up briefly over the reeds to spy his next objective, then moved as quickly and quietly as he could to a hillock on the left side.

What Dax wouldn't give for his ottsel nose about now. He would have been able to tell all kinds of things about the enemy: Where they were, how many, their genders, if any of them were sick or injured. All his elf-nose could pick up was a uniform swamp stench. It was like being flipping _blind_.

He found his position on a slightly higher hill. Crouching low, he let out a brief shrill whistle. He parted the grass to get a better view of the glistening plain between the wastewater facility and Jak's cover. A small flock of birds suddenly launched themselves noisily in the air, as if sensing the tension build. Dax steadied the muzzle of his rifle on a rock and peered into the sight. He flinched as a brisk breeze ruffled his hair from behind, carrying his smell down to the facility.

The Lurkers knew something was up. The tones of their howls went up a half octave, and even before Jak broke cover they had jumped down from various crevices in the machinery and started sniffing. There was a band of four of them, short-limbed, thick torsoed, wearing nothing but a simple flap of mud-brown cloth at their loins and a whole lot of bristly black hair. Dax saw the golden orbs half-buried in the center of each of their foreheads. His heart sped up in anticipation of danger, but his mind coolly noted they were armed primitively with spiked clubs and knives. It was almost unsporting.

As they hopped into the clear, Dax frowned. These Lurkers seemed a bit smaller than average, no more than Daxter's height, judging from where they came up to the massive intake pipe. Aw gee, no. They were _kids_. Stupid, curious, unlucky Lurker boys. They must have gone poking and exploring in some hole looking for adventure, and oh they found it all right. Dax wondered if their parents knew what they'd become, or if they'd simply gone out to play one morning and never returned.

Then Dax stopped himself from thinking about them, because he had to _kill_ these guys, and being sympathetic only got in the way of that. They were already dead, the important part of them that is. These were just corpses being moved around like meat puppets. And anyway, Lurkers were a flipping scourge. Fast breeding, stupid creatures, constantly causing problems for Elf farmers.

Jak let out a shout and stepped out of cover. Instantly all their attention was on him. They puffed out their chests, beating it with fists and making themselves look as big as they could. Then they hunched and dashed forward with loping strides. Dax put his eye to the scope and picked the first off. The noise of Dax's rifle echoed around the marsh. More birds took flight. One of the Lurkers, noticing his comrade go down, immediately backtracked for cover. Dax got a site on him and squeezed the trigger. The other two were too driven by their orbs to worry about their own skins. Jak shot them both before they got a chance to swing their clubs at him.

The whole battle took less than 10 seconds to resolve.

"Clear!" called Jak, meaning that there were no more active orbs near by. He holstered his gun and brought out a knife, walking over to the first Lurker to prize the orb from his head. Dax stood up and slung his rifle back onto his back. Then made his way as directly as possible to where Jak was working, giving only sloppy attention to his footing.

He put his leg into a deep puddle and felt a buried stick jab him in the shin. Hissing, he stepped back, got himself onto dry land. With a muttered curse he limped his way over to where Jak was pocketing the orbs.

"Goddamn it. Hold a moment," said Dax, and fished into the side pocket of Jak's pack, where they usually kept health supplies, but it was empty. "Hey Jak, where's the eco."

"Out."

"What?" cried Dax, incredulous. "You mean we went out to fight _Lurkers_ without first aid? Are you _nuts_. What would have happened if they'd landed a blow on us?"

"You can use white – it works too. I do it all the time." Jak fished into the pack and tossed Dax a blue dotted carton.

Ha, ha – sure it would heal him, and maybe he'd start smelling colors and seeing auras too, and boy that would make the hike back home fun. Uh no. Dax put it back into Jak's pack. "I'd rather stick with green. It's okay, just a scratch. I'm barely bleeding. I can last until we get into town. But seriously, Jak, how could you take us out hunting without the green stuff? That's just -- well, I'd say reckless, but everything we do is reckless. Stupid. That's the word."

Jak shrugged, but didn't meet his eye. "I forgot."

"You forgot to pack it?"

"Forgot I ran out."

Dax humphed. "You know what you need, buddy? A _wife_. Someone who makes sure you got your clean underwear on and a _full health kit before you go into battle!_"

"That's what you are for," said Jak, shouldering his pack, and incidentally turning his back on Dax.

Ouch! "Yeah, yeah," he admitted wryly. "I'm your ugly-ass wife. Well, I sure crapped out on that duty today."

Jak looked over his shoulder sympathetically at him. "You shouldn't put yourself down so much."

"Yeah I should," said Dax. "You are right. It _is_ my job, making sure you are okay." Dax rubbed his face with grimy hands. "But damn it, Jak, I know I've been flaking out on you, but you need to be able to take care of yourself without me. You can't go out in the field unprepared like this. It's suicide. And I don't know what I'd do if you got yourself killed."

"Sorry," said Jak, sounding suitably chastened.

"I worry about you, bud."

Jak grunted and got stony faced. Typical.

Dax fished a cloth for gun cleaning out of his own pack and used it as a makeshift bandage. Inwardly he tried to calm himself. The scrape was really nothing, and this was a minor metalhead hunt. He'd just have to make sure that Jak was properly equipped before he went off to work.

Jak was broodier than normal on the way back to the zoomer, even after Dax relented. Probably kicking himself for letting Dax walk around with a scratch. Typical Jak – overprotective at the most ridiculous times.

"Hey," said Dax, softly, as he heard Jak sigh. "It's really nothing Jak. Minor injury, not even worth thinking about. Hell, I get worse than this on the job site all the time."

Jak nodded, but the brood didn't go off his face. If anything it deepened. He sighed again.

"Okay," said Dax. "What is it? Seriously, man, it drives me nuts when you won't let me in on your little world of pain. How the hell am I supposed to do my wifely duty and solve your problems if you won't tell me what they are?"

"I heard a rumor."

And that was the sound of the world coming to a halt. _That_ rumor. Yeah. Great, all this "wife" talk was probably making Jak feel uncomfortable. Dax smacked his face. "Yeah, about that, Jak. It's _not_ true. I assure you."

"Then you and Torn…?"

Dax tsked. "Really, Jak. He's got all those facial tattoos and dreads. Ew. If I don't swoon over Ashelin, I'm sure as hell not going to be sleeping with Torn." Dax gave Jak his most I'm-being-honest-here look. "Really though, you know me and my lewd mouth, it was just an innocent crude phrase taken entirely out of context." Lies, lies, lies. But there was no way Dax was going to tell Jak what was really going on. The memory made Dax blush. "Er… out of curiosity, where exactly did you hear this rumor."

"Around."

"Ya think maybe Tess heard it."

"Possibly."

"Ah." _Supercrap._ "Well I damn well hope that this is causing Torn as much problems as it is me. Tell me, is he pissed off? Because I sure hope he is."

Jak smiled. Oh goody -- _now_ he was happy. "Not appreciably."

The lock that let them back into the city was just up ahead. Dax stared at the impressively thick steel with unseeing eyes. "I should go see Tess. I've put it off too long. We are strained enough without her thinking I've gone gay, too."

Jak took his hand away from the scanner. "Okay." The gloom was back in on him, and he didn't meet Dax's eye.

This time Dax didn't really care. He had bigger problems to worry about. Jak should be happy enough, because, honestly, scratch and all it had been a really good day. They'd been the old team again, fighting the good fight and bringing home the orbs. Dax had forgotten what a thrill it was to go into the field and take down some metalheads. It was him and Jak against the world and they'd won again. A good day capping a pretty good week (that whole thing with Torn aside) capping a not that bad month.

But it was all at the expense of Tess. Dax wasn't so stupid as to not know that if you give a girl the silent treatment for long enough, she stops being your girl. It just was so easy not to think about that scene. And every time he could put it off, he had. It might already be too late to resurrect what they had.

But no, that was the old Dax thinking. That was Loser Dax, and he was done with being Loser Dax. He was going to start taking charge. Facing his destiny. Hell, yeah.

* * *

.

Dax through his leg over the side of the zoomer and shifted his weight until he was snug up against Jak's back. He felt the vehicle shudder and shifted balance as it rose into the air and then took a sudden tight right. Vaguely, he realized that Jak was actually driving the same speed as traffic for once. Dax didn't really think about the reasons for that. He was just grateful it gave him more time to come up with some way to prove to Tess that she'd be better off an elf, so that they could get on with their relationship – finally.

Dax walked into Tess's shop his mind abuzz, muscles twitch-tight ready for a verbal duke out. And the first thing he saw was Tess standing behind the never used reception desk. Standing, on two feet, leaning forward on her long, tan, naked elven arms.

She was an elf. Oh _makers_.

"Oh," she said. There was a slight pause before she was able the rest of her sentence out. "Hi, Dax. What can I do you for?" It almost sounded casual. She wasn't meeting his eyes.

Dax couldn't say anything for what seemed like an eon. All the arguments he'd been searching for, all the worry, all the _procrastinating_ and it had all turned out to be moot. Tess apparently decided to change without his help. It was so … _relieving_ but oddly anticlimactic.

Meanwhile, oh hubba. He stared, taking in her bare shoulders and the strap of her halter top. He noticed her pointed chin, her eyes --wide with surprise and guilt -- the flow of blonde hair around her neck, the curve of her bosom. He'd forgotten how pretty she was. As an ottsel she'd been adorable, but like this, like this…_so beautiful_.

So lovely it almost didn't matter that _no one had bothered to tell him._ Almost.

"When did you change your mind?" A twinge of worry set up in his stomach. He couldn't put his mind on it yet, but something seemed _wrong_ about this happy picture.

Tess bit her lip guiltily and her eyes dipped down to stare at Dax's chest. "Two weeks ago."

_Two weeks. Not that long then._ Dax felt numb. _Only two weeks that no one thought I'd care to know._

"You were right," said Tess to his unspoken _why?_. "I was being stupid. It just doesn't make any sense to be the only Precursor in town. Their time came and went and I'm really not much of a figurehead," she coughed out a self-depreciating laugh which ended with a roll of her shoulder. "And it was getting in the way of my work, and my life. I just needed some time to think things over and figure out where I stood. And I guess, I realized I was standing in a pretty silly place." Tears dropped down her cheeks. "So, I guess you can say I told you so."

Dax ached. "Aw, Tess, babe. I'd never do that. Ever."

"No, you wouldn't." Tess smiled painfully.

The door rattled and Tess looked beyond Dax's shoulder. "Hi Jak." Dax could feel Jak's presence behind him, but he didn't turn to look. Tess wiped her wet eyes with the back of her bare arm, then seemed to mash her face into more professional demeanor. "So what do you guys need? More ammo?"

"Actually," said Dax, not letting the conversation be switched. "I was kinda hoping I could take you out for dinner or a beer or … something. A walk?"

Tess's eyes shifted from Dax to Jak and back, her smile fell. "I – now's not good. Maybe later, though."

"Okay," said Dax, feeling let down.

So, that was it. Everything he wanted, he'd got. And yet, the problems, the distance, it was all still there. No, they were worse. He could see it in Tess's discomfort, the way she unconsciously crossed her arms over her chest, as if to hide her cleavage. This wasn't just chagrin over not telling him of her change. That they could laugh off, forgive and forget. She wanted to end this conversation and him to leave. _Why?_

No. No. He wasn't going to just let this lie. He was going to man up and fight for this. He'd girded himself up for a hash out and by golly he was gonna have it.

But she was paying more attention to Jak than him right now, and that just wasn't going to work. The big guy needed to butt out and go somewhere else.

"Hey, Jak," he said, not really looking at his friend. "Why don't you go on in and get some green stuff and more rifle rounds. Lots of green, no more stinginess."

Jak grunted, giving the two of them a sheepish look, then walked into the shop proper, leaving Dax alone with Tess for the first time in months.

"Tess, babe. You look… beautiful." Dax breathed the word. He felt warmth towards her.

"Thanks, Dax. You don't look bad yourself."

"Women can't resist a sharp dressed guy," said Dax, falling back on bullshit and bravado to mask his own nervousness. Wet, dirty cammo had a kind of a macho allure to it. Sure, he could tell himself that.

Tess smiled, but it was a brittle, you-caught-me kind of smile rather than an easy going one. "I'm sorry about how I treated you last time. And I probably should have come to see you right away when I changed, so… sorry."

"Hey, you know who should have told me? Jak." _And why_ hadn't Jak told him? Dax felt a sharp stab of annoyance towards his pal. "But it doesn't matter to me, Tess. I just want us to be happy together."

"I'm sorry, Dax. I can't do it." Just like that – the façade came down. Even though it was small, her voice seemed to echo around the room. Or maybe it was just echoing around Dax's head.

"What do you mean, you can't do what?" Dax heard a high tinny whine start up in one ear. His stomach clenched.

Tess covered her eyes with her hand and turned her head away. He could tell she was starting to cry. "I can't go through it again. It's not going to work."

"What, what isn't going work?"

"Dating."

_She's dumping me. She can't be. It was going fine!_ Dax shook his head, trying to slam down the sudden anger that boiled up in his belly, because getting angry wouldn't change anything. He needed to focus. He needed to fight smart, find that reason that would make this all go away. Now would be a really good time for him to figure it out.

"Did I blow it? What did I do? What happened? I haven't even been around you? Why?" He bit his tongue to stop babbling. It hurt like hell, and he tasted blood, but it stopped him short of going ballistic.

"Nothing happened, Dax!" snapped Tess, miserably. "Nothing. That's the point."

"But that makes no sense," said Dax. "What does that mean, 'nothing happened'? You are an elf again and I'm an elf and we don't have to worry about having a litter. That's a huge _something_. The problem's solved."

This time it was Tess's turn to be confused. "What? No. I mean, back when we were both ottsels I thought I had a chance with you, but it didn't work out. We were the only two of our species left on the planet, and we couldn't even _live_ together. And it's not going to work out now because if anything it's _worse_."

"What's worse? Am I ugly? Is that what you are trying to say? You don't like me cause I'm not big and beefy like Mitch?" The blood was draining from his face. He felt nauseated.

Tess's face crumpled. "Oh, Dax, this has nothing to do with Mitch, it's _Jak_ that's the problem."

"You are dumping me for Jak?" Dax felt dizzy. The world made no sense.

"NO!" Tess yelled. Then quieted down again in the stunned silence that followed. "I can't do it, Dax. Maybe I'm just being selfish but I can't always come in a distant second."

"Second to who?"

"Second to Jak." She was crying, her words came in awkward short hitches. "He needs you. And we all need him. And _I can't compete with that._ I tried. I lost. While we were both ottsels I could pretend that maybe, one day, things would change and it would be you and me. But it won't. You were always Jak's. You'll always be Jak's."

Dax had been prepared for the accusation about Torn, but not Jak. Where the hell was this coming from? "Aw, Tess, no. Jak's just a friend, Tess. That's all. Give me a chance to prove it."

"Really," there was a fierceness in Tess's eyes that scared Dax. "Then tell me. Be honest. Are you sleeping with Jak?"

"I have _never_ cheated on you," said Dax putting every ounce of sincerity and conviction in his voice.

"I didn't ask if you had _sex_ with him," said Tess. "I asked if you _slept_ in his bed."

Dax couldn't say anything for just a moment too long for a lie to work. "Who said anything about us sleeping together."

"That's it," said Tess slouching forward. She seemed defeated by her own argument. "You've _always_ slept with him. I know what your apartment is like, Dax, there's no room for you _not_ to be sleeping with him."

"He sleeps badly when I'm not there."

"I _know._ I used to live with you. I remember really well. But, Dax, that's not going to change, don't you see?" Tess's eyes spilled over again. "You are going to work all day with Jak, and then go play some after work with him, and when you both are tired enough you are going to go to bed together. And when will it be _my_ time with you?"

Dax's throat dried up.

Tess went on: "Sure we can have a dinner every now and then. Steal an hour here and there when Jak's too busy to need you. But what future is there for me in that? Don't I deserve someone I can spend time with? Live with? Sleep with?"

Dax had _nothing_ to say to that.

"Like I said: Maybe I'm just selfish, but I want to come first. I want someone I can build a future with. And we both know I can't do that with you. Because Jak needs you. He'll always need you. And he's first."

Dax blinked hard. He wanted to argue with her, but she was right. Oh Makers, she was right. "Babe, Jak can learn to get on without me." But there was no conviction in his voice this time.

Tess's voice lowered to a conspiratorial hush. "Maybe, if he was someone else. Yeah. But he's not. Dax, you and I know he's a nice guy, but the only reason he is a nice guy is because there are people like you and me supporting him, giving him a reason not to give in to the monster. If we were to turn our backs on him – " her voice cut out.

It was a hell of a scary thought. They'd both seen pissed off Jak in action. Dax shuddered. But so far that deadly ire had always been trained at the bad guys, never at ordinary people or his friends. So far.

"Jak has way more self control than that," insisted Dax. "He would never."

"Never? Are you crazy? He already _has_ -- I've seen it myself. He took down not one, but _two_ governments, because the guys in charge pissed him off. Sure they weren't great leaders, but they were no worse than the other aristocrats out there. He's taken down massive battle robots – solo! Dax, you know better than anyone how dangerous he can be. People like you and me and Torn and Ashelin, we are his reason not let all this power drive him insane."

"You are saying that I need to handle him. I need to give up on love so I can be there for him every time he needs me?"

"Dax."

"Why me?" groused Dax, more to the universe than to Tess. "Why can't it be someone else?"

"Because he loves you. He's always loved you. And, babe, I know you love him, too, or we would have been together back when we were ottsels. Daxxy, sweety. I know you care about me, but push came to shove, and he won. And I'm just so tired, so very tired, of trying to put myself in the middle of that. I love you, babe – but not that much."

Dax felt no words. In a way it was worse that when he'd first turned into an Elf. Then it only seemed like she was dumping him. Now she unequivocally had. And he couldn't argue with her because painful or not, she'd been speaking the truth. It _wasn't_ fair to her. It had never been fair. Jak did come first. He didn't want to give up Tess, but he couldn't give up Jak. Jak needed him. And he _loved_ Jak.

"I want to be friends," said Tess, lamely.

Suddenly, Dax just couldn't be there. It was too gut wrenching. What tiny bit of dignity was left to him would be stripped away if he started bawling in front of her.

"Yeah. Tess – tell Jak I went home." Dax turned and walked out the door, into the darkened street. His leg throbbed to the raggedness of his breath.

* * *

.

Later, much later than he expected, Dax looked up as Jak opened the door. The apartment was dark, Jak stood in silhouette against the stair light. Although Dax couldn't see Jak's eyes he knew the guy had spotted him huddled in the dark on the couch.

"I'm sorry," said Jak.

"Not your fault, man." Dax replied back. "It's okay. Other fish in the sea." There weren't. There never would be. It wasn't as if he had admirers banging at his door to begin with, but even if he could get another girl to look his way twice, he'd just face another situation like he had with Tess. It wasn't worth the bother. Torn propositioning him was probably as close as he'd get to being laid in this lifetime.

Jak didn't challenge his words. Not that Dax really expected him to, if there was one thing the two of them had down to an art, it was issue avoidance. There just wasn't a reason to go poking the problem, especially when there wasn't any solution to it. The easy way out had served them well in the past, why not now?

Instead Jak flipped on the lights, as if there were no significance to the darkness Dax had been moping in. Without bothering to look at Dax, Jak placed his sacks of ammo and groceries on the counter and began dinner, like nothing at all had happened.

For some reason this irritated Dax more than he could express. He didn't want the subject to disappear. He needed to poke it further. Get it all out in the open for once in their lives. No two ways about it, they needed to stop fucking up each other's relationships, whatever that took.

"You know, Jak," said Dax, biting the bullet. "Just because I struck out doesn't mean you gotta take a vow of celibacy, too."

Jak turned his head and frowned at Dax. "What?"

"If you want me to clear out for the evening so you can bring a girl home, you just let me know. I don't mind. There's a guy at work who will let me crash on his couch." There wasn't. But there might be, if Dax asked. Or Tess might be willing to put him up just as a friend. And worst came to worst, he could always crash on the job site for the night.

Jak shook his head and turned back to chopping celery. "That's okay. I don't need you to do that."

"But you will at some point. I was thinking, also, that you know, now that I'm bringing in some money, we can also start looking for a bigger place. An extra room. Hell my connections with construction will get us to the top of the list."

"I like this apartment." Though he didn't turn again, Dax could hear the warning growl in Jak's voice. "I don't feel like dating. It's not an issue."

_Just say it, just say it. _"It's just that you seem a bit tense and a girl might --"

"-- Could you stock my backpack Dax? I got the extra green eco you insisted on."

It was clear a dismissal of the subject, and Dax felt almost glad for it. Torn couldn't complain now. He'd tried. Maybe one day Jak would take up his offer and it would solve some future dancing around the subject. Dax got up off the couch and grabbed the sack of ammo and eco and spent the next few minutes doing his wifely duty and making sure Jak had what he needed for the next morning's fight.

* * *

.

Dax woke up with the thin morning sun shining through the bedroom window and Jak's body pressed up against his back. This was no different from the way he'd woken the day before, and the day before that, all the way back to the morning after Light's midnight appearance. That morning, Jak had woken to discover himself wrapped around Dax and simply taken it as a given that it was now an acceptable part of their friendship. Dax couldn't say otherwise without tipping Jak off that Light had visited him and opening that whole emotional can of worms. In the end it was just easier to let Jak spoon if that was what it took to keep Light content.

No wonder Tess had dumped him. Even if he and Jak weren't lovers in the strictest sense of the word, they were sure _acted_ like they were.

_Wait a second._ Dax stiffened as the pieces clicked together. Light! That manipulative bastard. He _knew_. Light knew that Tess was an Elf. Light knew that Dax would want to date her, maybe move in with her. Start a life -- _leave Jak_. Dax should have realized that from the start. Light needing a cuddle down? Light the smug, cool alien persona, needing a Dark style snuggle?

No, Light just needed to tighten the emotional tether, make sure Dax couldn't go anywhere without a massive guilt trip. _And I promised him. I promised I wouldn't abandon Jak._

The amnesia didn't go both ways. Light new everything Jak did, he knew Jak's thoughts, his worries, his wants. Light wouldn't want to spoon, but Jak –

It was absurd. Ridiculous. Jak liked girls – he had them by the handful. Girl a week, pick em up and drop em. They came and went, like Ashelin, who had given up because Jak preferred to race cars with Dax. And Keira, who had accused Jak of liking Dax better. _Everyone_ seemed to think they had some kind of thing going. Even the guys at work and they hadn't ever seen him with Jak.

_Am I really this oblivious?_ Dax fist tightened on the sheets. _Has Jak really wanted me all this time? Even as an ottsel? Impossible! He would have told me something, indicated it some way._ Jak shifted behind him, nestling in, his hand sliding from Dax's waist to his hip. Dax could feel Jak's breath warm against the back of his ear.

_Jak will never make the first move._ That's what Torn said.

So Light made it for him. So Torn made it for him. So Tess made it for him.

_So I gotta make it for him. I gotta let him know it's okay._

Jak was still asleep, but Dax could feel him, pressed against his back. He was warm, and smooth, and hard. Not like Tess at all. Not like being cuddled by a pillow, more like being wrapped up in something strong and terrifying. A force of nature. So much power. The hand that curled loosely over Dax's hip could tighten and then Dax would be caught.

But Jak wasn't going to make the first move. The trap would never spring until –

_Do I want this?_

It wasn't an easy question. The obvious answer was "no." Jak was a guy, and Dax wasn't gay, but it wasn't as simple as that. Even as a guy, Jak was handsome. Sure he didn't have bosoms, but what he did have, looked _good_.

But there was more to it than that, the _inside_ of Jak was perfect. They _fit_. If ever there was a guy Dax would do it with, it would be him. But Dax had always framed the situation with himself being the one being hard, and someone else yielding to him. He never considered the option of being held, pressed, taken, controlled by someone much more powerful than himself. To trust that the other wouldn't hurt him when he could, oh so easily. Because it wouldn't be equal. It couldn't be equal. Not with Jak.

Scary – but not too scary. Not when Dax thought about it. Not beyond the pale scary and actually not all that different from how they always related. From the time they were kids, Jak wanted and Dax did. Jak decided to explore Mist island and Dax agreed. Jak pushed and Dax followed along, even when he was scared shitless, even when he knew better. Dax had dedicated his life to Jak – freely. He wanted Tess but he wanted Jak more. Jak came first.

Put that way, sex seemed the _logical_ next step.

But oh such a risk. Because this wasn't just the freaking _tension relief_ that Torn seemed to think it was. This wasn't just a typical dangerous cliff or metalhead fight. This was messing with the fundamentals of their relationship, changing the rules that kept everything copasetic. And right or wrong it would twist them off into a new direction, one that they could never come back from.

Do I want this? Do I _really_ want this?

_Why fight it?_ thought a tiny selfish part of Dax, _I'm not going to get laid any other way._ It was enough, just barely, to tip the scales.

He made a small movement, just a token, but still easily the most terrifying thing that Dax had ever done in his life. He pressed back, just a little, into the solidity of his sleeping friend. Part of him prayed that Jak wouldn't notice, wouldn't wake up, because once this ball got rolling it wouldn't stop.

Terrifying, but also exciting. Thrilling.

Jak's hand tightened, and Dax felt him press closer. There was a change in Jak's breathing, and he knew Jak was awake. Dax could smell the sudden sharpening of Jak's interest, could feel it pulsing hotly against his thigh. _Are you sure about this_ Jak seemed to broadcast.

So Torn was right after all. It was actually shocking. Still, Dax'd come this far, he wasn't going to chicken out now. He closed his eyes and pressed back again, deliberately rubbing against that hardness in a way that was unmistakably provocative.

That was it. Permission given, there was no taking it back now. And nevermind Jak, his own body was alarmingly eager about the whole thing, as if he'd been bottling up a lifetimes worth of sexual tension and he'd finally gotten around to popping the cork.

Jak kissed his shoulder, then with terrifying ease rolled Dax over to face him, so that their mouths could meet. Dax kissed back. He'd never kissed anyone before, and his mind was filled with the texture of Jak's goatee, the pressure, warmth. The kisses were everything he'd come to expect from Jak, demanding, hard, insistent, there was nothing to do but go with them, follow their lead. Dax's chest felt so tight he could barely catch his breath, his hands trembled as he touched Jak's arm.

Jak undulated against him and Dax couldn't breathe at all. It felt good. It was hot. Exciting. Jak's hands were everywhere, and it was all Dax could do to find Jak's shoulders and hold on.

They rolled, or rather Jak rolled him, because to trying to do anything but be passive would mean fighting Jak, and Jak wasn't yielding an inch. _You lie this way_, those hands seemed to say. Dax lay the way he was told, on his side, facing the wall. Dax's fear/excitement crept up another notch. So scary, _so_ good.

For the briefest, petrifying second Dax thought Jak meant to penetrate him completely unprepared. He tensed all over in anticipation of pain, but the angle was all wrong. Relief from fear felt like a drug. _He's just going to thigh-fuck me, that's all,_ Dax thought. Jak took him in a frantic way, as if he wanted to finish _now_ or Dax might change his mind and take this away from him.

_As if I could. As if I would_.

Jak reached around and pulled him close, worming his hand beneath Dax's. He was being jacked by Jak, and the thought gave him a nervous laugh. And then it was just too much. For more heartbeats than Dax could count, he was lost.

So this was what sex was like. It was good. Better than good. It was _fantastic._ Intense, addictive, and _wrong._ Oh golly, it was totally fucked up.

For a moment they lay there, messy, entangled. He could feel Jak's arm tighten like a bar across his chest.

What the hell have I done? thought Dax.

* * *

.

A/N: I warned you: Dubious con at its most dubious, but maybe not the way you folks were expecting it to be.

Believe it or not, quite a bit of editing took place in the sex scene to cut the rating and get this past the MPAA board. I left the emotional side in because, you know, vital to the story, but I removed as many of the mechanical and sensual details as I could get away with and still make this make sense. If you want those extra 300-odd words, you can find this story also posted on AdultFanfiction. net (I'd link but as you know ff. net kills all links with a vengence). My handle is the same there: velvet mace and it's in the games archive. Yes, you do have to be 18 or older to read it.


	7. Chapter 7: The Jig's Up

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Jig's Up**

* * *

It didn't seem possible that life could ever be normal again. But it was. Strangely, almost disappointingly normal. After he'd showered, Dax got dressed in his usual tar and grease stained dungarees. Jak made them breakfast and then they both went their separate ways to work.

On the street he was ignored. No one knew that he and Jak had had sex that morning and his skin still tingled from it. No one knew that Jak had kissed him goodbye as he'd shouldered his pack and headed out the door. Everything was exactly as it had been the day before.

He walked onto the job site like nothing had happened. Like the world hadn't just upended, and the guys treated him just like it was any ordinary day.

_Was I expecting a parade?_ Dax chided himself as he took his familiar perch on the roof. No this was just the new ordinary. Life goes on. In the bigger scheme of things, it was nothing at all. Just a simple act in private between two people who cared about each other.

To think he'd actually been scared of losing his virginity. How crazy was that?

* * *

That sweet, comfortable normalcy lasted one precious week. Then finally, inevitably, the hammer fell. Ironically, the end wasn't due to the nightly fumbling or morning kisses or any of the mushy, tender stuff. Nor was it any pressure that Torn or Tess or even Jak put on him. No it came from the one corner of his life never expected to give him any serious problems.

It was Dax's job that dealt the killing blow.

"Did you hear about the metalhead sighting?" asked Stanford during their lunch break. "In the Gardens. Got a fucking kid." He took a large bite of his sandwich and wiped a trail of mustard off of his cheek with the back of a dusty hand.

Dax, who was sitting with the rest of the workers in a loose semicircle around what would one day be someone's living room, perked up at the word _metalhead_. "In the Gardens – you mean the City Gardens? Within the wall?"

Arne gave an ugly grin. "Yeah. Scare you Fire-rat? One of your cousins sneaked in through the sewers. Heard the kid was eviscerated."

"Was it killed? The metalhead, I mean," asked Dax, fighting an urge to head out and hunt it down. _Not my job_ he told himself. _Not yet, at least._ It was just a matter of time though. Days at most. Jak was losing patience.

"Yeah, Krimson Guard got it," said Stanford. "Big fuss, they had to evacuate the area."

Krimson Guard – not Jak. Where was Jak? "They were sure it was metalhead, not just some ordinary critter?" Dax searched his mind. They'd been through the tunnels and ruins under the city so many times – it was nearly inconceivable that they'd left any orbs behind. But then metalheads did find a way to get where they wanted, and Haven City smelled pretty ripely of Elves. The gardens butted up against the West wall. Perhaps there was some newly dug tunnel.

"Definitely metalhead," insisted Stanford. "Neighbor of my sister saw the thing. And Torn was all over the place. They don't call him out for wild animals." Suddenly Stanford cocked an eyebrow at Dax. "You know Torn. Maybe you can find out more about it from him. Tell us what's going on."

There were grunting murmurs of agreement and a general swelling of "No one bothers to tell us anything" going around the circle of men.

Daxter felt uncomfortable. He was still waiting them to actually call him out on his relationship with Haven's Defense Minister. As of yet no one actually had, but it was more out of respect than lack of curiosity. The guys were not the gossipy type, but there was only so long they'd let the matter lie without someone poking at it. Daxter wasn't sure what he'd do then – concoct a lie he was more than apt to flub? Or tell the truth and aggravate curiosity until someone made the connection between him and the furry animal that Jak used to keep on his shoulder? Both options sucked.

He could only imagine what Arne would say if he knew that Daxter had once been someone's pet, carried around, stealing drinks out of a man's cup and submitting to being petted and cuddled by his friends. More than submitting, enjoying it. Seeking it out. Occasional protests aside, he'd been largely happy with his lot as a critter. No. At all cost, he had to keep that hidden from this lot. If he thought Arne's ill-humored teasing was bad now, imagine what the guy would do with some real ammunition.

The foreman's whistle saved Daxter from further questions. Briskly, he stood up and found a reason to be far away from the rest of the guys. He scampered out to corner of the roofs trusses, aware that he was being watched with equal amounts of curiosity and confusion. He was working solo up there today, so he managed to actually avoid any further talking until the final whistle blow, and the daily line up for pay.

"Hey Dax," whispered Stanford, stepping into line behind him. "You know you really should come get a beer with the us sometime. The guys are starting to get put out with you snubbing them. Point'll come where they'll start to shun you. I'll tell you from a guy who's been in this business a lot longer than you, it's not good to be shunned. You don't get a lot of jobs. Accidents happen when you do."

Dax's guts squirmed. The last thing his ego needed was to flunk out of what was supposed to be an easy vocation. "Makers, I want to," said Dax. "But I can't. Oh man, I really can't."

"Why can't you?" said Stanford, his voice laden with annoyance.

"Cause he's whipped," said Arne, taking his money from the foreman's hand and stuffing it into his pocket.

"I'm not whipped," snapped Dax. "I'm just needed, elsewhere."

"Naked," supplied Arne, crudely.

"Not your _business_," said Dax firmly, annoyed that one or two of his coworkers had started sniggering. He reached the head of the line and collected his coins, shoving them away without bothering to count.

"Makers," said Stanford with real irritation this time. "We already know you are gay. You don't have to be secretive about it. Though I think your boyfriend's an asshole if he doesn't let you have an occasional beer with your friends."

"I say dump him," said Rugar, joining up with them. "The loser is too controlling. This is Torn we are talking about, right?"

"I'm not gay," said Dax. "I've just made an exception. And no, it's not Torn." Dax realized he'd opened a can of worms. "Anyway, it's no ones business but my own who it is."

"Well, if that's so," grumbled Stanford, "Stop making it our business. Listen, I couldn't care less if you are blowing Lurkers in your spare time, just stop throwing your oh so private love life in our faces every time we try to be friendly with you. Come down off your high tower and have a beer with us for once, and stop making such a fucking issue out of it."

Dax felt torn. He _couldn't,_ not now. Not with metalheads _in_ the city. Jak was going to want to drag him out to the Naughty Ottsel to talk with Torn about S&Ding the threat. With Dax there, putting his two cents in … that would be it.

Dax's stomach bottomed out. It didn't matter what the guys thought of him. There would be no roofing job tomorrow. Torn wasn't going to put up with any more excuses. Dax was going to get roped into serious metalhead hunting in the tunnels beneath the city with Jak ASAP. And once he started, there would be no excuse to stop. Tomorrow, he'd be back in the ruins, jumping the pits, climbing the crumbling walls, risking his neck. Vacation over. The Precursors had him in their ghostly grip.

Or maybe he _could_ just go for a beer with the boys after all. Daxter raised an eyebrow and considered it. It would piss off Jak, sure, and Torn as well, but Jak had been having his way pretty damn consistently of late, and all that rolling around between the sheets had to have earned Dax some brownie points. As for Torn, he should damn well be pleased, considering the incredible gall of his last request. Jak was back on metalhead duty, tension properly relieved. Daxter could simply sidestep the issue, come home late, go to work tomorrow, just like every other day. The deadline for giving up the last shred of life that was truly _his_ could be put off for just a bit longer.

"You know what, guys," said Dax, smiling, "Screw it, let's get that beer."

* * *

The apartment was dark when Dax entered it, late, late that night. He'd closed the bar down and he didn't even feel remotely guilty about it. The unlit steps bothered him only a tiny bit – the streetlamp angling into the alley provided enough illumination to keep him from tripping. It was weird though, Jak always waited up for him. Maybe Jak was actually getting used to Dax's independence?

He slipped the key in the lock and turned it, trying his best to be stealthy. Quiet as a mouse, he crept into the kitchen, shutting the door and turning the latch slowly behind him. The apartment was utterly still. He'd slide into bed without waking Jak and ….

A force caught him and pushed him up against the wall with a bone jarring thud. He felt a wave of sickly cold that seemed to penetrate his clothes and smelled a distinctive musk reminiscent of damp earth. A body, devoid of warmth, pressed him mercilessly into the brickwork. A soft breathy growl rasped Dax's ear.

Fear crawled up Dax's skin, stealing his breath in a pained hiss. "Dark," Dax managed. "Please, it's me. It's just me. I'm not an intruder. It's just me. Dark. It's me." Oh Makers, oh _fuck!_ Dax could feel the dark eco sapping his will, lancing into his muscles and making them ache. He tested the strength of the monster's grip on his upper arms to see if there were any give to it, but there was none. Dark pinned him there against the wall, one knee planted dangerously between Dax's thighs such that with a simple shift of weight Dark could crush his testicles. Dax felt utterly weak. All his efforts towards building up his strength were futile. Against Dark he was just as flimsy and powerless as when he was an Ottsel.

Dax did the only thing he could think of to defuse the situation. He leaned forward and rubbed his face, ottsel style against the underside of Dark's chin and caressed the monster's back and sides with his hands. Petting. He forced his tight throat into making soothing sounds. "'S okay. I'm back. I'm here. You can sleep, Dark. You can sleep."

It seemed that Dark was holding him more gently. The knee lowered, but Dax was still caged in and he didn't dare relax. There was no doubt if he made any attempt to flee, Dark's claws would shred his arms and his teeth would bury themselves in Daxter's throat. "Sleep," murmured Dax, never more awake. "Sleep."

Dax felt a clawed hand seize his chin and push it upwards. A moment later, cold hard mouth fastened on to his. He felt the sharpness of Dark's teeth grazing his lips, and every suck held the pent up pressure of a spring being tightened to the point of snapping. Dax kissed Dark back because it was what the creature seemed to want. It was like tasting the grave.

And suddenly the kiss began to warm and soften. Dark shifted back to Jak again. It was a heady feeling to go from being held by monster who might just tear your to bits, to being held by a lover, who barely flinched with surprise before renewing the kiss with passion and sensitivity.

"Sorry Jak," said Dax, when they broke apart. His lips ached from the pressure, and he had no doubt they were bruised. "I'm so sorry."

"I was worried," murmured Jak. "You didn't come home. Where were you?"

"I know. I … oh man… I'm sorry. I didn't think it would bother you this much. Not enough to turn you. I'm sorry." Dax felt like crap.

"Did Dark hurt you?" asked Jak suddenly. Dax felt Jak's hands seize him and pat him down, searching by feel for any tears in his clothing or dampness of blood. Dax bore with it patiently.

"No – scared me a bit, but he didn't hurt me. Dark would never hurt me," Dax said, as much to reassure himself as Jak.

"There are metalheads in the city, Dax," said Jak, suddenly all serious. "Five sightings along the west side of the wall. They found some way up through the tunnels under the city. There's a colony we gotta clear. Then you didn't come home. They could have gotten you. I didn't know."

Dax felt his eyes tearing up. "Oh you big goof, you think some metalhead rats could hurt me? I didn't spend five years fighting the buggers for nothing. I can hold my own."

Jak kissed him again. It was full of soul and ache and desperation, somehow spelling with his tongue and lips all the things that Jak couldn't put to words. Jak's hand laced with his, squeezing, holding it up against Jak's cheek, as though that would bind Dax to him. Dax bore it, even though it hurt his bruised fingers, and the back of his hand still stung from being rapped against the bricks.

Dax felt Jak's fear and need in the hammering of his heart. More than that he understood it, like he'd toked up some white eco, or somehow developed psychic powers. He could tell that all Jak's old familiar worries were back with a vengeance: terror of his own strength, humiliation at his inability to control the other personas, horror that Dax was drifting away, abandoning him to a lonely, joyless life, to deal alone with urges and problems that were unique to him.

Nothing he could say would set Jak's heart to rest. Words were worthless when it came to someone like Jak. What mattered were actions. Jak needed proof of Dax's commitment.

The couch was so close that Dax could feel it every time he leaned left. Reading his body language fluently, Jak swept him up, lifting him by the waist long enough to turn him sideways and let him fall, backwards over the sofa's soft, padded arm and onto the cushions. Then Jak was with him, lying on top of him, pinning him, stripping him, making love with every tender caress. Dax gasped in breath and undulated, showing with his body that he wanted this. He mouthed words of encouragement that seemed ridiculous and meaningless to his own ears. Finally he pressed his own hardness against his friend, as if to say, "See, see, this is what you do to me. No one could do this but you."

Suddenly Jak's weight lifted. "Is it okay?" His voice was edged with eagerness and oh so vulnerable.

Dax knew what Jak meant. They'd danced around this subject every night of fumbled lovemaking since the first. Dax had always sent ambivalent signals and Jak had backed off. Penetration sounded so violent. So final. But Jak really wanted it. So tonight Dax said, "Yes." In his adrenaline edged state, he could think of no better way to prove his devotion.

He needn't have worried. Jak was oh so slow and achingly careful, approaching the whole thing as a puzzle to be meticulously unlocked. He took frequent breaks, to turn on a light, to retrieve some oil from the kitchen, to bring out pillows that might support Dax easier. Dax waited with ratcheting anticipation. When they started their lovemaking the final time around, it was unhurried and tender and completely wordless. Dax clenched his teeth and bucked, as Jak quietly filled him up and brought him over the edge.

It was the best sex they'd ever had.

* * *

Dax maintained a heady post-orgasmic glow all the way into the next morning, when, for the first time, he allowed Jak to walk him part of the way to the jobsite. As always, when in a good mood, Dax's mouth rattled off, glancing on issues and curiosities, mulling over theories, all completely inane and based off of nothing more than his own somewhat disjointed thinking. As usual, Jak said just enough to let Dax know that he was indeed listening and not just nodding his head.

Jak was in a great mood.

They'd rounded the bend into the neighborhood where the Dax's current jobsite was located when they both, simultaneously, noticed a girl leaning up against a wall. Dax's words dried up in his mouth and all he could do was gape.

She was gorgeous. Oh hubba. Busty, slim, oh yes, with an aura of probably unmerited innocence. Her clothes were flattering and neat, sexy but not trashy. Her blonde hair fell in a straight curtain to her waist. Her face had a sweet kind of delicacy, like a doll's. Her eyes met theirs with equal interest as they walked past.

As per usual, she lost interest in Dax immediately. It took her half a second, tops, for those large pretty eyes to take in his shortness, the slim arms and legs which despite daily exercise never bulked out much. And then her focus was on Jak, who was, of course, as sexy a hunk as anyone could possibly want. Dax saw a shy smile light up her face, and he turned as saw Jak flirting back with panache as natural as breathing.

Dax felt a pang, and suddenly everything he and Jak had done the night before seemed fake. Jak wanted that girl. And rather than being jealous, Dax found he _sympathized_ with Jak. He wanted the girl, too – not that he'd ever have her. But Jak could. All Jak had to do was turn around and walk back. Say a few words. Charm her.

That was the natural order of things. Not this… this buddy fucking or whatever it was that he and Jak were doing. How had they gotten sidetracked like this? Dax felt a knife twist of grief well up in his heart. Jak had cost him Tess. And now he was costing Jak this girl, who was doubtless a ton better for him. Why? Why did they do this to each other?

"Hey Jak," said Dax. "Let's split up here." He leaned in and whispered. "She's really cute." He jabbed his friend once in the ribs with his elbow, "Go ask her out, I won't get in your way."

He then turned and headed off down the street at a jog, barely registering the look of surprise and annoyance on Jak's face. He half expected Jak to run after him, or maybe call his name, but Jak did neither. One last look as he rounded the corner showed Jak standing where he was, staring after him, glumly.

It was just as well, Dax assured himself, as the worksite came into view. Sanity settled it's chilly hand on his heart. The moment the guys realized that _Jak_ was his elusive secret lover, his easy going relationship with them would be over. They'd understand his aloofness, and for a change welcome it. And oh, he'd get any job he asked for, and no one would think of causing him an accident, but it wouldn't be the same, because they'd all be afraid of Dax – afraid of what he'd have Jak do to them if they pissed him off. And at that point he'd _have_ to quit, for their sake.

And he liked this job. He really, really did. If Dax had never met Jak, he was pretty sure this is where he'd be in life. Building useful things for people. Using his hands and dexterity to create a happy future, rather than to destroy a miserable past.

"Dax!" one of the guy's bellowed out.

He waved. The sun shone bright and cheerfully down on the site for Daxter's final day of work.

* * *

The midmorning peace was shattered by a deep masculine yell that echoed out across the worksite. A moment later came a general scattering and scrambling, and terrified curses. Dax realized with a jolt that something very, very bad was happening.

Adrenaline hit Daxter's bloodstream and without really thinking about it, he dropped what he was doing and ran out over the narrow plank pathway to where he could get a view. Below him, he saw the guys scrambling backwards, trying not to trip over loose piles of bricks and debris. Two of the bigger guys had taken up improvised weapons, a brick and a plank, and were edging closer to the object of attention in the middle.

A bundle of dark course fur, the height of a man's knee, hesitated in the middle of their loose ring, then suddenly lunged forwards towards one of the pipefitters. The elf spryly turned around and leapt back over a barrier of stacked two by fours, before the creature was distracted by one of the bricklayers and altered course. Dax caught sight of a yellow gleam in the center of its head.

Metalhead. Metalhead rat.

Daxter didn't think. He leapt down to a platform on some nearby scaffolding, then stepped off the sheet metal flooring, catching a support truss with his hands on the way down, and swinging out until he could drop to the floor of the site. He took some of the force of the fall on his bent knees, then rolled to lose the rest of his momentum. Coming up to a stand, his eyes lit on a cement shovel. Without thinking he grabbed it and then dashed out towards the throng of men, yelling at the top of his voice.

The metalhead was attacking one of the carpenters, ripping into his leg with its sharp teeth and claws, while others threw chunks of brick and Stanford attempted to bat at it with a short length of two by four. The rat flinched under the blows then squirmed and darted towards Stanford, who panicked and dropped the wood in his attempt to scramble away. Two other guys took the moment to drag the poor bleeding carpenter away.

"Hey you stinking piece of fur. Come 'n get me!" yelled Dax, running up behind the creature.

The rat obediently stopped chasing Stanford and launched itself at Dax, closing the distance in one swift dash, its teeth sinking deep into Daxter's calf. Ignoring the ripping agony of his leg, Dax brought the blade of the shovel down with a swift determined stab right behind the Metalhead's skull, sinking deep into the back of the creatures neck.

There was a sickly crunch and the Rat went limp, its jaws grew lax around Daxter's leg, and Daxter was able to shake it loose. It was dead. With some effort Daxter leaned on the shovel, using his injured leg to hold the mass of the rat still. He brought the blade up a little and jabbed it down again and again until the tough neck was finally severed and the head rolled free.

Then Daxter looked up. The men at the site had gathered in a tight circle around him, their mouths dropped in awe.

"Makers," muttered Stanford. "That was awesome." With that, it seemed the tension had broken and the guys started in to slap Dax's back and ruffle his hair.

"No!" said Dax, his voice still tight with terror. "Stay back, it's still dangerous." He hopped clear of the corpse himself. The guys obediently followed his lead and gave the thing some clearance. "Okay, I gotta go bring the head to Torn. NO ONE TOUCH IT!"

He needed something to contain the still active orb in while he hauled it off to Jak so he could deactivate it. The only thing came to mind was his own backpack. Yuck. He limped painfully back across the site to where he'd stowed it, then turned the sack over and dumped out his lunch onto the ground. A green eco ball rolled out. Dax leaned after it and snatched it up, breaking the shell with one hand. He felt the soothing coolness enter his bloodstream and race around his body. Ah, that was the stuff. Dax closed his eyes and momentarily savored the feeling of his pain ebbing away. He sighed with relief as the bite on his leg fully and scarlessly healed. Then he snagged the strap of his empty backpack and jogged back to the corpse.

To his horror the men had closed in on it again. "Back up guys!" he shouted. "Get away from it!"

"Calm down, it's dead, Dax," one guy had the gall to say.

"No it's not!" said Dax, rushing up to the knot of men and bullying his way into the center.

"You some kind of expert on metalheads?" asked Rugar.

"Actually, yes, I am, so you guys need to shoo back. Three feet at least!" They did, reluctantly. All but one.

Arne was still bent over the corpse, and when Dax circled in to see what the lug was doing, he realized with horror why. "A KNIFE! I NEED A KNIFE!" Dax shrieked. The guys flinched away, too startled to help in anything like a timely way.

To an untrained eye, Arne seemed to be contemplating the yellow gem in his hand. His face was screwed up in a grimace and he bared his teeth. It was easy to miss the pinprick sized dots of blood on Arne's forehead where the spiderweb thin metal strands had lanced through his skin and hooked into the bone. Four spots turned to six, then, eight, then more than a dozen. Arne held the gem in a tight fist, his arm shook, and his free hand grabbed his wrist. It looked to the world as if he were struggling mightily with himself. Then, as if with great deliberation, he brought the shining evil thing up to his head.

"A knife!" Dax cried out, but it was too late.

"Arne," murmured one of the workers. "What are you doing, man?"

Arne knelt hunched, hands against his head, silent despite the terror and pain he must be feeling. Dax felt a mix of fury and frustration and a deeper ache of regret. If only, for once in his life, Arne'd given him the respect he was due. If only he wasn't such a cretinous slab of muscle and fat. As much as Dax disliked the guy, he _never_ wished for this fate on him: a living death, imprisoned in own his flesh, helpless to watch it become a weapon against his own friends. Dax hoped beyond hope that Arne wasn't aware, but he'd seen this thing happen before, and there was ample reason to think the elf was still in there, doomed, miserable and in pain. The kindest thing was to end it quick.

Dax turned and saw the bloody, cement crusted shovel he'd used to decapitate the rat. He grabbed it and pointed the blade at Arne's hunched back, and with tears welling in his eyes, and adrenaline making his entire body shake, he put all his strength into a swift downwards thrust.

At the last moment someone grabbed him around the waist and yanked him backwards off his feet. The blade of the shovel clanked uselessly against the ground. "Makers, Dax," cried Rugar. "You'll kill him!"

"He's dead," said Daxter, struggling to free himself. "He's a metalhead, Rugar. He's already dead."

As if to contradict him, Arne spoke. "My head is killing me." The bricklayer groped the ground next to him, then cumbrously pulled himself to his feet. "What happened? Can someone help me?"

The ring of workers, still shocked and confused, hesitated a moment. Then one stepped forward.

"NO!" screamed Dax, putting force behind his voice. "Don't! Don't go near him!" He twisted in Rugar's arms, finding the weak point in his grip and pushing until he was free. He raised the shovel again at Arne, but once more, he was thwarted, by two people this time. They gripped his arms and worked to free the shovel from his hands in a completely wrongheaded attempt to be heroic.

"Have you gone crazy?" Rugar asked, his voice squeaky with disbelief.

The workers stared at Arne and at Dax as if they couldn't make up their minds what to trust: Dax who had just felled a metalhead right in front of them, or their own sense of decency. It was an impasse for two seconds, then Arne groaned.

"Please, help," he pleaded. "I need a doctor. It hurts!"

Fuck, Dax had forgotten how horrifying it was to hear a metalhead talk. It sounded so _normal_ – almost reasonable. It was so much better when it was some animal, and you didn't have to think that maybe, just maybe there was a guy in there who could still be saved.

The guys made their decision and to Dax's horror three of them came forward to help steady Arne on his feet. Dax winced as the metalhead, with terrible casualness, grabbed the throat of the man nearest him and crushed it in his hand. Using maniacal strength, Arne slammed the unfortunate samaritan into a nearby pile of bricks. He then turned on the other two, who were retreating away as fast as they could. Several guys pulled out their utility knives (where the hell were they a minute ago when they actually could have helped?) It wouldn't make a difference now: if they were close enough to stab Arne with those small blades, he was close enough to kill them.

The grip on Daxter loosened, and he tore his way free of his captors. Arming himself once more with the shovel, he danced out to an empty spot, away from the others. "Hey Arne!" he shouted, "Over here. I'm the one who did this to you. Don't attack them, I'm the one to blame!"

Arne spun around. "You!" His face curled in fury as he advanced on Daxter.

"Yeah," said Daxter, backing up, luring Arne away from the others. "If I hadn't killed that rat, you'd have never touched the gem. And if you hadn't touched it, it would never have gotten you. It's my fault. All my fault."

Arne growled. "You little weasel. You did this to me. YOU!"

Dax turned and ran, luring Arne deeper into the construction zone. "If I had just talked to you guys about metalheads, you'd have known to stay away. But I didn't. I held back valuable information because I was being secretive about my past! I'm the screw up. I'm the one who should be punished for it."

Arne spotted a plank and grabbed it, only the ungainly stagger of his step suggested that he was a puppet and not a man. "Fucking skinny little _prick_. You think you are better than all of us, with your fancy moves and your important friends. I'm going to make that smart mouth _beg_."

Daxter backed himself into a corner, where two brick retaining walls met. He saw a beam he could probably reach with a leap, from there he could draw himself up to the second floor, out of reach. He was sure he could defend the high ground with relative ease. But the plan fell apart even before he attempted it. The men, rather than running away like he hoped they'd do, were instead attempting to sneak up on Arne from behind.

"Arne!" Daxter cried, but Stanford took that moment to clobber the bricklayer with a length of copper pipe. It was a painfully solid hit and any normal person would have gone down or at least winced, but Arne wasn't a person anymore. That gem didn't care how much pain its host felt… and any dead elf was a good one.

Arne turned and threw his plank with all his might hitting several of the guys squarely across the chests. Then, with uncanny ease, he grabbed the end of Stanford's pipe and yanked the slimmer man towards him. Before Stanford could react, Arne had pulled him into a chest crushing hug. He then spun, dragging Stanford with him like a shield, putting him in the way of every subsequent blow. Dax's friend took two painful hits across his back before the crew realized they were doing more harm than good and hesitated, wondering what to do.

Dax shouted, "Back off, guys. For crap's sake, I know what I'm doing. Let me do my job! Run the fuck away!"

They backed off, but didn't run. Maybe their machismo wouldn't let them, maybe they just couldn't believe that Dax could handle a metalhead elf on his own, either way it made any strategy Dax thought up impossible. Arne wasn't going to stay focused on him when there were easier pickings to go after. Dax felt like crying with frustration.

"Hey, you wanna kill _me_ remember!" he called out to the metalhead. "I'm the one who knows how to kill you fucking bastards. They don't know shit. I'm the dangerous one!" Dax was talking as much to his fellow workers as he was to Arne at this point. He hoped they got his point.

Arne, swung his attention back to Dax, still holding Stanford tight. The latter's struggles were weakening, and Dax realized it was a matter of time before he passed out and died from lack of air.

Dax launched himself away from the wall, holding the shovel with numb hands. Predictably, Arne tried to maneuver his captive in the way. Dax aimed left and swung the shovel low. It wasn't the best move ever, but it clipped Arne's ankle good, while not touching Stanford. Arne staggered a bit while turning, then tossed his limp shield away. Stanford fell to a heap and didn't move.

Dax swung the ungainly weapon again aiming high and this time clipped Arne's shoulder. It blossomed red with blood, but Arne didn't even flinch. He grabbed the haft of the shovel with one impossibly strong arm and yanked hard, much the way he had with the Stanford earlier in the fight. Dax was jerked forward, losing his footing for a mere fraction of a second before he let go and rebalanced. In that moment Arne closed the rest of the distance and grabbed Dax's throat with bruising force.

Dax kneed him. Unfazed, Arne glowered down on him, the yellow gem buried in his forehead gleaming ominously in the late morning sun. "This is your fault," said Arne. "You did this to me. Reap what you've sown."

Dax couldn't breathe to make a comeback. All he could do was stare into Arne's crazed brown eyes and know that his words had a kernel of truth. If Jak had been there, Arne would never have suffered. No one would have.

He needed Jak. Oh Precursors, he needed Jak.

He barely heard the change in the commotion. All that he was aware of was that suddenly the grip on his throat was gone, and Arne's attention was off in a new direction. With the last ounce of strength in his body he tried to attack, but his limbs were weak and wobbly and he could only stagger and gasp.

Then he felt the familiar cold of dark eco, and smelled the deep richness of soil and rotten leaves. A long white arm flashed in front of him, slicing Arne's torso with sharp claws. It was a smear of movement to his weary tear-blurred eyes. Then he saw Arne go down, neck flapping open and blood sheeting out. The white figure leaned down and stabbed a clawed hand around the gem still lodged in Arne's forehead. With a single jerk, he ripped it away and held it aloft like some bloody trophy.

Dax felt his knees give way and sat down on a sack of plaster. He stared up Dark who jabbed his arm three times in the air before tossing the dead stone towards the scattering crowd. Dark then turned and looked down at Dax, his eyes black and fathomless.

Dax coughed once more and found his voice. "Dark! Oh man, you are a sight for sore eyes. How did you know?"

Dark stalked closer to him, face still twisted ominously. With both clawed hands he reached down and grabbed Dax's shirt, lifting him with a hard jerk to his feet, then just as suddenly tossing Dax over his shoulder like a sack.

"Dark!" yelped Dax. "Ack!"

The construction workers hesitated just a moment before deciding en masse that Dark was yet another threat. From his topsy-turvy viewpoint, Dax could see the guys raising their improvised weapons and closing in. Oh, so not good!

"Let him go," shouted Rugar.

Dark spun around and, finding himself ringed, snarled.

"Dark, no!" screamed Dax. "Don't hurt them! Guys, back off! He's a good guy!"

Apparently, Dax's word had considerably more credence now than it had all morning, because the men looked at each other and backed away. Dax was then able to focus his attention on Dark. Reaching a flailing hand backwards, Dax found Dark's face stroked it. "Dark, man, let me down. I'm fine. Let me down, buddy, and go to sleep."

Dax saw skepticism in the eyes of his mates, but they were holding off.

Dark turned around slowly, surveying the elves around him. Then reluctantly allowed Dax to slide back down to the ground. Dax breathed a sigh of relief the moment he felt weight on his feet.

"Dark, I'm fine," Dax reassured. He caressed the side of the monster's face, trying to bring its focus back on him and away from the others. "Look, not a scratch!" He coughed a little on the last word, and hoped the angle of his face obscured the darkening bruises on his throat. "I'm okay!" Dax continued the moment he could. "You rescued me! And the metalhead is dead. You can go back to sleep. Understand? Go to sleep. Let Jak come back."

Dark reached down and lifted Dax's chin, and Dax knew what he wanted. Without thinking he supplied it. He stood on his toes and planted a kiss on the corpse cold lips and willed them back to warmth again with all his might. "I love you, you lug," Dax said, breaking contact. "I'm not going anywhere. Now let him back."

Dark reverted. The horns melted, the claws softened, and Dax could feel the warmth of the sun again on his back, and now Jak held him. Ordinary Jak, his yellow hair slicked down with sweat and fear carving deep lines on his forehead. He pressed Dax into a hard embrace even as he turned his head to survey the scene.

Dax suddenly became aware of the audience. For a moment he longed for nothing more than to shove that cat right back into the bag, but it was too late. They'd seen, they knew, and if a couple of the denser ones hadn't been able to connect the dots, the rest of the crew would do it for them in a few minutes.

_Oh_ that_ Dax_. That's what they were thinking. Jak's Dax. His sidekick. His other half. The bit of color on Jak's shoulder that was always hip deep in every bloody confrontation. Who'd helped fight the nastiest, scariest, most deadly and horrifying things the planet could throw at a person. That Daxter.

Some would be wondering when he'd become an Elf, and a few would wonder _how_, but neither of those questions rated as large as the one clearly spelled on all of their faces. _Why the fuck is Jak's Daxter pretending to be a roofer?_

Jak grabbed Dax's face and forced him to meet his eyes. "This is a waste of your time. I want you back. Come." His expression brooked no disagreement. He then released Daxter and stepped several feet away, surveying once again the crew on the site with obvious contempt. _These are my rivals?_ The guys drew back, awed and terrified, hastily putting down their weapons and lowering their heads.

The foreman carefully came up to Dax's side and pressed his day's pay in his hand. "Son, anyone can put a roof on a house. What you do, that's a lot more important. Looks like you are wanted elsewhere." The foreman glanced at Jak, who calmly stared him down with icy intensity. Dax's boss lowered his head and looked away. This wasn't a fight he wanted any part in.

Dax looked at the coins, then up at the face of the man who hired him on the fly on a placid evening nine weeks earlier -- a day when Dax had felt similarly like his world had crumbled down despite all his best efforts. Dax felt a new ache at the bottom of this throat. The foreman had brushed him off as unequivocally as Tess had. He wasn't wanted. Fired.

For good reason. What a mess.

He looked over at Arne's body. He'd never know why Arne had taken such an instant dislike of him, but after weeks of trying, the oaf had finally found a way to get under Dax's skin. Dax hoped he was happy in whatever afterworld existed. He looked over to where Stanford was sitting, splay legged on the ground, hand on his chest still trying to get his breath, then at the battered bricklayer, and the bloody carpenter, and the rest of the guys, nursing their various injuries. They stared at him with all the awe and horror usually reserved for Jak. All trace of camaraderie was gone.

_I lied to them,_ Dax realized, sickly. _I lied by omission. I betrayed their trust._

He wouldn't be welcome at the bar with them tonight. Oh, they wouldn't drive him away if he chose to come, but it wouldn't be like the few stolen times he'd had before. The class barrier was down. He was their hero, not their peer, and it would be strained. He no longer fit in – never had, to be brutally honest with himself. And no one – not Jak, not his old friends, nor the construction crew -- had a clue why he'd even tried.

Dax put the coins in his pocket and walked away, not bothering to bid any of the guys goodbye. It was all a waste of time, after all. A pipedream. Two months of wearing out his true friends' patience chasing down a ridiculous, unattainable, brain-wrenchingly _pedestrian_ fantasy.

Oddly enough, despite this, something in him actually grieved.

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A/N: One more chapter to go and this is done.


	8. Chapter 8: The Proper Fit

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**Chapter 8: The Proper Fit**

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**  
**

Jak waited for him at the end of the block, acknowledging Dax's grim look with a brusque nod. This was how it was supposed to be. Lonely – but not alone. Needed, but not wanted. The best job in the entire world that just won't let you quit no matter how hard you tried. It sucked, but that's how life is. Sometimes you choose your fate, other times it chooses you. And sometimes it crawls into your bloodstream and alters you until you are no longer fit to do anything else.

Dax had been here before; though he'd thought at the time it was being an ottsel that set him apart. Ha, ha, well… apparently not. The simple explanation is not always the right one.

"There's a storm sewer this way," said Jak. "I'm pretty sure it climbed out from here." "It" was the metalhead rat that Daxter had killed. The incident at the worksite remained unmentioned.

Dax nodded and followed Jak's finger to a dark narrow inlet where the edge of the pedestrian causeway dipped and slid beneath the concrete of a cross street. The hole looked claustrophobic – a slit of blackness barely wide enough to admit Dax's head. Did Dax want to go down there? No way, no how, but he would.

Jak then turned and reached into his backpack, pulling a pistol from one of the inner pockets. "Here."

Dax took the gun, and found places in his work belt for the ammo clips that went with it. Then he found a spot where he could secure a pair of grenades that Jak also insisted he have. He was as ready as he'd ever be, Makers help him. "How many of them do you think we are looking at?" he asked.

"We killed five yesterday. There was yours, and another down the street. Hopefully not that many more." Jak grinned like this was a great boyhood adventure they were about to embark on.

"Well, no time like the present," said Dax, forcing a more chipper smile than he really felt. "Let's give these critters a taste of lead."

He crouched down and eased himself into the storm drain, feet first. Past the narrow entryway, it widened out to a more respectable passageway, still too short for Dax to stand up in, but wide enough that he could maneuver around on his hands and knees. Jak tossed him down a glow-stick before squeezing his way inside himself. Dax fastened the light to his shirtsleeve then looked both ways down the passageway.

Now if he'd been an ottsel, he would have been able to smell the trail. He'd be scampering ahead, following his nose, keeping things light with a smart aleck sense of humor. Now, he just didn't have the heart for it and his nose was telling him nothing.

-- But his eyes were another story. "I see some fresh tracks in the mud here, Jak!" he said, excitedly. "They seem to be coming from this direction." Ignoring the fact that the same mud that preserved the Metalhead's Rat's tracks was also slowly soaking through his heavy canvas pants, Daxter crawled onwards, tracing the creature back.

And that's when Daxter forgot – momentarily – his misery. Because it _was_ fun. The ultimate hide and go seek. Adrenaline made his heart beat hard and his mind think. It was like the cobwebs had been swept off and he was finally using all his faculties – not just the muscles that never seemed to grow any larger no matter how hard he worked out. Not just his limited elven senses. All his experience, all his powers of observation, guts, grit and the thirst for glory, all melded together into a perfect moment of clarity. Booyah!

"I sense metalheads," said Jak and with a gentle-but-insistent arm, he pushed Dax to the side and crawled past him, putting himself between Daxter and the enemy. "Watch my six," he said.

Dax crouched and stared backwards the way they'd come, wanting with all his might to turn around and face down the creatures coming at them. But that was Jak's job. His was back up. No shame in that – still more important than roofing.

He could hear them now, a skittering of claws, and sloppy thunks and plops and clicks. The sound of the twigs washed down from the nearby Garden section being scraped aside by fat bristle-furred rats. Moments later, he felt Jak shift against him; the hard muscles of Jak's arm jostled Dax's side as he pulled his weapon from his thigh-holster and let loose three quick rounds into the echoing cement culvert. A high-pitched squeal marked his success.

"All clear," said Jak, reholstering. Dax swung around again to survey the damage. There were two rats. Jak made quick work deactivating the devices in their heads, then tossed the stones to Daxter to put in Jak's backpack. They shoved the corpses to the side to make it easier to pass without crawling over them. Next big rain would flush them into the swamp. "I think I sense more up this way, though," Jak said before Dax could relax.

They continued to crawl for what must have been blocks. The light of their glowsticks was supplemented by periodic shafts of sunlight coming down from street above. Then, somewhat abruptly, the tunnel angled steeply downward then opened out on both sides. They'd entered the portion of the city's drainage system that was far, far older than the city itself. At some point in the far distant past, this hall probably was Precursor gathering spot – perhaps an underground market place, with stalls that had long since crumbled to dust. Now, with the help of a bit of ordinary brickwork here and there to channel the flow, it served as a sewer. There was some respect.

Jak took point now, splashing through a broad but shallow and sluggish moving stream of dirty water. He reached the other side and pulled himself up the channel wall with casual ease. Dax followed, trying to ignore the way the cold water invaded his work boots. He reached the wall on the far side and for the first time felt a pang of self-conscious worry. The wall was taller than his head – and glassy smooth. What if he couldn't get up there? That worry turned out to be unfounded. He did get up – though he didn't do it with nearly the same grace as Jak. Jak merely watched him, as he spent the better part of ten seconds scrambling his boots against the slick wall for purchase before finally getting high enough to lever his center of gravity over the top.

"You know," said Dax nursing a fresh scrape on his left wrist, "You could lend a hand. Some of us are just ordinary folks."

Jak quirked up an eyebrow, and snorted skeptically.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, big guy, but seriously, I hope you have some rope in that backpack of yours."

Jak didn't even grace that with a response. He was moving ahead again, at a pace that was difficult for Dax to keep up with. They were in the Precursor ruins now, which meant that if you didn't watch your footing you were liable to fall down a shaft. Dax almost psychically sensed Jak's muscles tensing. He fumbled for his gun before Jak turned and said "Right ahead."

Right ahead turned out to be more like "Around this huge twenty foot deep pit with a pool of dark eco the size of a small ocean". Ledge time. God Dax loved ledges – and by love, he meant utterly dreaded. Jak nimbly scrambled around them, apparently not even noticing the way the stones shifted a wee bit under his weight. Dax reholstered his weapon and followed, much, much, slower, face practically planted into the wall and both hands stretched out to keep his weight as far as possible from the edge.

Jak had the _gall_ to laugh at him from a safe spot on the far side.

Dax was about to retort something back, when he realized that Jak wasn't paying any attention anymore. He'd found the rats, or more accurately, they'd found him. There was a nest of them. The spit and dirt mound that grew out of the ruptured wall was only the entrance of the nest dug into the soil below. There was no telling how big the chambers beneath were. They could contain easily twenty of the little blighters.

Dax forgot about his treacherous footing and ran the last segment of ledge, cutting a final corner with a leap and a roll, drawing his weapon as he came to a stand again. Jak didn't say a word. He was too busy alternately kicking away and shooting rats. For every one he killed, two more seemed to flood out of the structure to bite him. Dax could see the darkening stains of blood on his legs. Despite the wounds Jak didn't do much more than grunt.

Dax turned and fired at the entrance to the nest, catching the next rat in the face and giving Jak a bit more space to deal with those who had already emerged. The next moments were so hectic that Dax didn't have a chance to even think, all he could do was shoot, shoot, shoot, reload, shoot. There was no time to fear, no time to worry. With a burst of inspiration he yanked one of the grenades off his belt, pulled the pin, then tossed it through the entranceway of the nest.

"Fire in the hole!" he shouted and then threw himself to the ground. He felt a heavy weight over his body, then the noise and heat and pressure made his ears ring.

Dax breathed. The weight lifted off his body and he rolled over to see Jak pulling himself back up again. Without missing a beat, the taller elf kicked one last stunned but still living rat in the belly and sent it out over the cliff and into the glistening black eco below. The pool accepted the body without even a splash.

"Good call," said Jak, holstering his gun. The metal head nest had collapsed, burying the rats within. They'd have to wait a bit to see if any of the healthier ones were able to dig themselves out before suffocating, but thankfully the chances were slim.

"Lost us some orbs though," said Dax pragmatically.

Jak raised an eyebrow. Then shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Torn won't stint us. Not for work _in_ the city. This is a top pay." He brushed some clods of dirt off his shoulders, then unslung his backpack and fished for a green eco pack.

Daxter felt a jolt of shame. It'd always been his job to keep Jak healed in battle. Now Jak had to wait until the fight was over. "Need one?" Jak asked. Dax just shook his head. He watched in silence as Jak broke the thin protective coating around the eco and let its glowing green essence sink into his skin. The discarded wrap was flicked out into the black pool without a second thought.

"'Let's go," said Jak, standing up. With a leap that was pure grace he caught the edge of a metal girder and swung up to that damnably tiny ledge, walking his way back to the hole they'd come through as if a six inch shelf were a highway.

Dax hesitated.

He could feel them, the Precursors, all around him like cold ghosts seeping into his skin. This was once their home once and for a thousand years it had been their grave. They wanted him here, maybe even more than Jak had. Running was pointless, they'd sunk their intangible hooks in him deep and were reeling him back. Just a bit more to go and he'd be solidly theirs forever. Dax knew with utter certainty that one day he would walk into a precursor ruin and never walk out. After his body died, would his spirit join theirs? Would he haunt whatever unlucky bastard came after him? Or would he finally be free?

Maybe it was just his ears still ringing from the blast. Maybe it was the exhaustion of having been on this emotional rollercoaster too long, but he thought he could hear something calling from below him. A rumbly deep bass muttering his name over and over. Slowly, Dax stepped towards the edge of the pit where the last rat had fallen into the depths.

Black eco swirled below him like an oily liquid stirred by a hidden current. The smart part of Dax warned him to back off. His memory reminded him that this was a bit too similar to the circumstances that started this mess. Back then he hadn't known enough to be afraid, but now he did. Most things that fell into that darkness never returned.

But he had… once.

Had it really been that bad? Honestly? Yes, there hadn't been much respect when he was an ottsel – no matter how much he'd earned it. He was considered a curiosity by most, a buffoon by some, useful by precious few. Loved by one. Two. Tess…

Dax's chest tightened and he squeezed his eyes shut.

If he went back to being an ottsel perhaps she would love him again. Perhaps he could go back to that easy going affection that they'd had. Jak had never begrudged him her company at that point. Things had been simple and she'd been beautiful and life had just been one endless adventure. Yeah, he could go back to that. It would be easy.

And Jak – Jak would be free to date again. No worry about ole Dax being a wet blanket on that party. He'd have that chick with the golden hair, and the one in the market and the one up the block. And maybe even Ashelin again. Or Keira. This time, Dax would make sure he didn't stand in the way of that. It would be nothing but healthy relationships for the two of them, the way it was meant to be.

This time he would be content, he was certain of it. Just tuck away the longing for what he'd never have to a corner of his heart and he'd be fine. Fine. And all it would take was a minor leap of faith. Just a mere inch forward, hang those toes over for a moment, lean his weight, and let gravity do the rest. It was so easy. One last deep breath, let it go, and trust.

"Dax!"

Jak's panicked voice made him stiffen and shake. His nerve broke, but it was already too late. With an ominous snap, the bricks beneath his feet dropped away into the abyss. Some last minute contrary instinct made him throw himself backwards, spinning around to claw at crumbling brickwork. By some minor miracle, his hands found purchase and his fall stopped with a jolt, with his feet dangling fifteen feet above the maw of roiling liquid.

And abruptly he was _not_ okay with falling into the drink. He wasn't sure what kind of insanity had overtaken him to make him think it was a good idea. Dax's heart hammered with terror. The Precursors had turned him into an Ottsel once – there was no guarantee they'd do the same this time.

Dax shifted, using every ounce of skill and strength to secure a better hold on the crumbling brickwork. He knew it was futile. Like all Precursor ruins this was held together with nothing more than lingering malice. They wanted him to fail – to die. They laughed beyond their graves at the young upstart race that followed them. They were insane and malevolent beings – why else would they have built those hideous yellow orbs?

He felt the stone yielding under his sweating hands. The piece on the left went first, splitting off from the crumbling floor and sending him twisting. Dax tried to use the momentum to swing him back up to get another hand hold, but the sudden increase in weight was too much for the brick under his right hand and it, too, broke free.

He was falling. The wall in front of him rose up quickly obscuring his view. This was it. The end.

He felt his hair lift on the back of his neck and thought that it was just the wind of his descent. Then he realized gravity had released its hold on him. In its place, Light's arms wound around his waist, cool and tight like silk. He heard the whoosh of Light's wings furiously beating the air. Then they swung around, arcing away from the cliff side. Light's foot tapped the wall of the pit and pushed away launching them higher while the oily pool below them writhed impotently.

Dax leaned his head back and looked up and saw a god glowing against the darkness of the ruin.

_He is_, thought Dax with awe. _My god._

Light made one more graceful loop and settled them easily back down at the entrance to the tunnel. Dax felt the other's grip loosen around him. Reluctantly he turned around to face his savior. _So beautiful_. Light cupped his chin and leaned in, brushing its ethereal lips against his and Dax was swept away by the revelation.

The priesthood had it all wrong – it wasn't the Makers they should be worshipping – it was Jak. This was the one true religion. The only religion that had ever made sense. Jak was going to save them. Save them all.

Then the glow faded, and it was just Jak, warm, comfortable, Jak, smelling of sweat and rat blood and gunpowder. Jak gathered him in tightly and Dax didn't fight it. He clung back, rocked down to the soles of his feet by his sudden understanding.

"I'm sorry," said Jak. "I shouldn't have brought you down here. You were right. I'm so sorry."

"No," said Dax. "No. You aren't. Wrong. Or Sorry. Or you shouldn't be." Dax winced and tried to speak his thoughts coherently. "It's not you, Jak. It's never been you – you've done everything you should, it's been me. I – I slipped up there –" _I gave into fear_. "I had a stupid lapse of judgment. I'll do better next time." Dax girded himself and stood straighter, trying to defuse the situation. "Hey, you got me, so it all turned out fine in the end."

Jak stared deep into his eyes. "Are you sure?" Dax understood the rest of the sentence: Sure you want to go back to fighting metalheads and climbing around dangerous ruins? Are you sure you want to be risking your life, day after day, for a basically thankless task?

"Yeah, I'm sure," said Dax. "There's nowhere that I want to be other than with you, buddy."

Jak frowned, and Dax realized that Jak thought he was bullshitting him again. Being sarcastic. But for once he wasn't. Everything he'd done the last 9 weeks had shifted in his mind and he was able to see it in a new light.

"No, Jak, I really mean it." Dax stepped back, turning himself away so he didn't have to see Jak's face and hopefully Jak couldn't see his shame. "Listen, I know we've been fumbling around for months trying to figure things out between us – and I know, it's not been so much you fumbling as me. What I mean to say is, _I'm_ the one who is sorry. I've been letting you down. Repeatedly. I just hope you can forgive me." Dax peeked up.

Jak's eyes were downcast. "I was afraid you were angry at me."

"Angry for what?" asked Dax, ruefully. "For giving me everything I've asked for? Never pressuring me, even when you damn well should have? Putting up with my tantrums? What kind of crummy friend would I be if _that_ made me mad?"

"Angry for wanting you," said Jak.

_Oh_.

Dax's heart ached. "I could never be angry for that. I love you, Jak."

"I've been… jealous. I want you with me _all the time_. Like before. I want what we had before. I know it's not fair or right, but I can't _not_ want it. I've tried." Jak looked ashamed.

Daxter thought he understood. This wasn't enough, Jak wanted the furry him. He pressed his lips together grimly. "There's a chance," he said. "If you – let me go – into the black eco. I could revert back to being an ottsel again. I was almost brave enough to do that myself – but not quite."

Jak's eyes widened and suddenly Daxter found himself being pressed against the wall hard. The air went out of him and he stared in terror, realizing that he'd provoked Jak in some dangerous way. He'd never seen fury like this before – not even when he'd screwed up big.

"I don't want you to be an ottsel," said Jak fiercely. "Promise never to try to be one again."

Dax felt a swell of relief. "I promise."

Jak relaxed a little – not enough to let Dax away from the wall, but no longer pressing him so painfully against it. "Good. Suicide will _not_ make me happy, Dax! Not at all!"

"But then what are we going to do, Jak?" Dax closed his suddenly weary eyes. "Because I'm out of ideas here, buddy. I've been trying my damnedest to figure out how make us fit together, and I've been failing. I need your input man. I need to know what you want. Everything I've done has been the wrong thing."

"I've been afraid of overwhelming you. I don't want to order you."

"Do it," Dax said, firmly, opening his eyes again. "Order me. Tell me what to do."

Jak looked incredulous. "Don't you understand, Dax? If I start doing that, you might not be able to say no. I can _make_ you do it." Jak shook his head as if trying to negate what he was saying. "And I can be selfish."

"I don't want to say 'no,' Jak," insisted Dax. "I just want some direction in this relationship. I'm confused and I'm really tired. And I don't know what you want. You won't tell me anything."

"Your independence…"

"Overrated." It was almost too painful to think about. The dreams of being his own man had died on the construction site. He was tired of fighting his destiny. He just wanted to take the easy way for once. He wanted to belong to something bigger than himself that he could believe in, and Jak fit that bill. Whatever Jak wanted, that was what he wanted.

Jak accepted his allegiance with a nod. Then he pulled Dax away from the wall and hugged him tight.

"Then I want you, Daxter," came the words in his ear. "I want you by my side in battle. I want you with me in the bar. I want you in bed. I never want you to leave me." With the last word he let Daxter go and stepped back to see his reaction. "I love you."

Daxter gave a slightly bitter laugh. "You realize I'm going to cramp your style, big guy. And sure, I might be sweet in the sack as a novelty, but I can't be a girl. Eventually, you are going to want something I don't have to give you." He pantomimed breasts.

"I don't want you to be a girl," said Jak. "I want you to be you."

"People are probably going to gossip about it," said Dax, remembering the rumors about him and Torn. "I mean, I'm not much of a looker, even for a guy. You are really settling, here."

Jak cocked his head scornfully. "When have I ever cared about what people have thought of me?"

Oh, so true. Jak never cared. Peer pressure never made the least dent in him. Jak was a force of nature. He bowed to no one.

"But is that what you fear?" Jak's eyes narrowed. Dax knew exactly what that meant, anyone who dared give Dax grief about the relationship would be very sorry for a very, very long time. If Dax wished it. Not that Dax did – he didn't want Jak fighting his battles for him.

…But maybe even that wasn't really it. Maybe this wasn't a battle that needed to be fought in the first place.

After all, since when did _Dax_ have to bow to peer pressure, either? Since when did _he_ care what the random elf on the street thought? They didn't know shit about his life. They'd never faced down fear the way he did. They'd never been transformed by eco. They hadn't seen the world, or fought wars, or been the hero like he had. Dax didn't have to live up to anyone's definition of manhood but his own!

"Do you want me?" Jak asked.

"I love you," Dax said with utter sincerity. "Of course, I want you." This should have ended the conversation, but it didn't. Now that they were getting everything out in the open, there was one king sized issue that couldn't be avoided.

Jak looked sadly at him. "But are you attracted to me, Daxter? I don't have," he pantomimed breasts. "Either. Would you be willing to give up girls for me? Because I don't think I can handle the idea of you sleeping with anyone else."

He meant Tess. Oh god, Tess… She was beautiful, and wonderful and, Makers, sweet. Everything Dax had ever wanted in a woman. And she wanted him, too, which was a miracle in itself. But Tess was right, she was so right. Dax had already made his choice. He wanted Jak more. Guy or not, he loved Jak more.

Because _Jak_ was beautiful and wonderful and everything Tess was – and more. He was _special_, inside and out, and there would never, ever be another like him. No one else could fit that place in Daxter's heart the way Jak did. They _belonged_ together. Tess just couldn't compare. It had hurt to let her go, but it would _devastate_ him to lose Jak. No contest. Dax chose Jak, and he didn't regret it.

It was over. There could be no more fantasies about how he could have been with Tess, if things had just turned out slightly different. No more waiting and hoping that Jak would change his mind and give them his blessing. No more insisting that _that_ would be the healthier relationship. It was time to make the final commitment. Dax closed his eyes for a moment and shut that door in his soul.

Strange. He thought there would be more pain, but all he could muster was a little hollowness in his heart.

Jak was waiting for a response.

Dax let out a relieved laugh. "If I got one vice, big guy, it's that I'm faithful to a fault." Dax gave his arm a pat. "Until the day you decide its over, I'm with you. You don't have to worry about me."

Jak pushed him up against the wall once again, but this time more gently. Before Daxter could wonder what he'd done wrong this time, Jak kissed him. It was a hard kiss, demanding, exciting, enveloping. There was nowhere to go but with it, to kiss back, to meet ardor with ardor.

Dax knew his wrists were being held against the wall in what could be seen as bondage. He certainly didn't have the strength to get away. The body pressed against him was unyielding, but he didn't mind. No more than that, he needed it. Precisely this.

This was his life, now. When they got home, he knew Jak would take him to their bedroom to have sex until their bodies ached and their souls were satisfied. Tomorrow, Jak would demand from him everything he had: every bit of energy, moment of time, every ounce of concentration, until there was nothing left for worry or self-consciousness or want. Dax would be swept up completely into the duo that was he and Jak.

_My god, my lover, my purpose._

_My best friend._

This would be all the best parts of his ottsel days and his elf days rolled into one.

"Let's go home," said Dax easily breaking free of Jak's embrace. "Come on." He scrambled ahead and Jak let him. The way seemed easier than before, Dax's footsteps were sure, and his body more than equal to the task.

_I am not a Loser,_ thought Dax. _I'm the luckiest damn elf in existence._ And this time he actually believed it.

**The End**

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A/N: And that's it. My great Passive Aggressive Opus. Hopefully the ending is happy enough to make up for all the depressing middle part, even if the ending is pretty much "And then Dax 'drank the Kool-Aid' and discovered it surprisingly refreshing."


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